Merlin Headcanons
by Drag0nst0rm
Summary: . . . and drabbles, one shots, what ifs, and musings. No slash.
1. Matchmaking

"Khilgharrah keeps sending me visions of sorceresses."

"Evil ones?"

"Worse. Eligible ones."


	2. The Once and Future Hedgewitch

Gwen has magic.

When Morgana stuck her in the Dark Tower, she could hear the mandrake roots screaming, something only magic users can do. This could be a plot hole (because that's never happened before), or we can have some fun with it. I know she seems wary of magic, but even Merlin worried that his made him a monster. If Gwen never had anyone to assure her otherwise and if all she ever saw was magic gone wrong, she could have easily grown to believe the lies.

I don't think she would had had much, or that she used it intentionally. You will note, however, that when Gaius tells her Merlin has magic, she doesn't seem surprised or horrified or anything. What if she'd noticed Merlin doing little things for years and assumed he was like her?


	3. It's Not Paranoia if

Sir Leon also has magic. How else did he survive the dragon, the undead army, and endless other threats? Unlike Merlin, however, he was subtle about it.

Which prompted this slightly crack fic:

When Arthur had announced that if whoever had used magic on their last quest came forward willingly, he'd be willing to listen to whatever explanation they had, he'd expected one person to come forward. One specific person.

He hadn't expected a line.

Mordred hadn't exactly been a surprise. Once he'd admitted it, Arthur had remembered why he'd seemed so familiar. He was the Druid boy who'd been arrested for magic all those years ago. And when they found him again, he'd been a mercenary without objections to magic, so he hadn't been too surprised when Mordred admitted to using magic on the quest.

He _was_ surprised to realize the magic Mordred admitted to doing wasn't the magic he remembered seeing.

Gaius wasn't exactly shocking either. He'd known for a while now the man was capable of it; finding out he was still dabbling had been . . . surprisingly unsurprising.

Gwen, on the other hand, had come in weeping and saying she hadn't meant to do it. That, he hadn't been prepared for. After that, though, he'd thought he'd been ready for anything.

Then Sir Leon had walked in.

And he still hadn't figured out who'd made that sword go flying through the air.

At this point, he was starting to see why his father had been so paranoid. Apparently, half of Camelot really did have magic. He had to fight the urge to start laughing hysterically when the door cracked open again.

Merlin stood there, wringing his hands.

"Please tell me you're just here to bring me lunch."

"I have magic."

Arthur stared at him. "Of course you do." He started laughing. There was a definite note of hysteria. "Of course you do. I'm starting to think I'm the only one who doesn't."

"So . . . You're not going to execute me?"

"Are you kidding? If I executed everyone who had magic, there wouldn't be a Round Table left." He took a deep, calming breath. "So you're the one who flung the sword?"

"What sword?"

He stared at him. Then, in a horrified whisper he said, "You mean there's someone else?"


	4. Camelot's Guards are Secretly Brilliant

During the height of the Great Purge, when powerful magic users were locked in the dungeons, Camelot's guards learned an important life lesson: If sorcerers want to escape, they're going to escape, whether you stand in their way or not. Trying to stop them will just get you killed. You'll be much better off if you pretend not to see/swallow the sleeping potion/accept the bribe/etc. I mean, hey, the food may be drugged, but at least it's free!

Thus, after Gaius, they were the first to know about Merlin's magic. Word got around quickly. The guards whose dice went rolling off knew perfectly well it was magic, but they didn't know who was causing it at first (they snuck a look as he went by) and figured it was better to look foolish than get killed. Even after they figured out he wouldn't actually kill them, they still went along with it. It was better than being knocked on the head, and it was kind of fun in a strange way.

They used to attempt to follow anyone who snuck out of the city at night, but the mortality rate was terrible. When they realized Merlin was taking care of it, they just checked to make sure he was following the latest traitor and stayed out of his way.

Somewhere, in an AU where things were happier, Merlin eventually told Arthur about his horrible security after he told him about his magic. Arthur confronted the guards. They explained the situation.

Arthur was not amused. At all.

Gwaine, however, thought it was hilarious.


	5. Obliviate

Merlin invented the spell for use on an enemy. As time passed, he succumbed to the temptation to use it on himself.

He soon discovered, however, that even the most powerful magic user in all of history couldn't cast one strong enough.

The half cannot so easily forget the whole.


	6. This is What I Know: Part One

This is what I know:

When he came to Ealdor, his eyes were haunted, and he ran as one hunted. His feet bled from running, and his once fine clothes were stained with blood and tears. He was proud, or had been, once, but when he sank to the floor beside my fire, his shoulders were hunched, and he told me hoarsely that it was all his fault. He said that the mad king had brought an end to the age of dragon lords. He had invited them all, every last noble, loyal soul, to a poisoned feast. He'd massacred them there though they'd fought, even as they choked on their last breaths.

He'd said chance had saved him. Chance or a cruel fate that had allowed him to survive so that he could fail to save what little was left.

My heart went out to him, so I wrapped him in a blanket before I rapped him over the head with a ladle for talking nonsense.

This is what I know:

He made the crops grow so bountifully that no one's belly so much as twinged that winter. He put out the fire that tried to devour Mildred's house with a word and fixed little Lucas's broken leg with the same. He saved Old Man Rodan from pneumonia and the village cow when her birthing went badly, although he laughed over the last.

It must have been very different from his old life, but he seemed happy. We all were. He saved us effortlessly, again and again.

Is it any wonder I loved him?

This is what I know:

When spring came, he killed every last one of the bandits who came, but it pained him afterwards. His nightmares came back, but he told me, fiercely, that he would do it again. This was his home now. His marriage to me seemed to seal it.

When more men came, I thought they were bandits at first. He knew better.

They were knights. Knights of Camelot. The mad king disregarded even kingdom boundaries now.

He killed them all. I had never seen such rage on his face before. It frightened the others.

They didn't see the tears that ran down his face as he carried one of the bodies away to the pyre. He said the knight's name had been Sir Ector.

He didn't say it outright, but I knew they had once been friends.

The second time they come, he was out hunting. They threatened to burn down the village if we didn't reveal him, and when that didn't work, they threatened me.

He killed those too and did not weep, but a deep weariness had settled over his face. I was not surprised when he told me he had to leave. I cursed the mad king for stealing him from me even as I blessed him for driving him here in the first place.

The third time they came, he stood ready with his pack instead of his sword. He waited until he was sure they had seen him, and then he fled.

This is what I fear:

They hunted him until his feet bled once more and then they surrounded him and killed him like a dog.

They caught him in a trap and dragged him back to that monstrous king and bound him to a stake and burned him.

They forced him to his knees, he who should bow to no one, and removed that head I loved so much.

This is what I fear. I do not know. None of them - not knight, not love - ever came back.

This is what I know:

More knights came after to see if we hid any more sorcerers. They didn't believe we hid none. They burned the village to the ground.

We said nothing. But the others eyed my growing belly, and I feared for Balinor's child.

This is what I know:

My son, my beautiful son, was born with eyes of gold. His first cry sent my cupboards flying open, and it seemed the whole world sang for joy.

King Uther sent more knights. Cenred could have cared less, but he began to wonder if a sorcerer of some power might hide here that he could claim and use for his own purposes. He sent his own men.

Slavers came that winter when food was scarce and hearts were cold. Bounty hunters passed through a nearby town.

I hid my son, my beautiful Merlin, from them all. I hid his magic from our neighbors and sighed aloud that he had none of his father's talent, that he would not be able to make our fields grow as the Dragonlord had.

I swore to Balinor, absent though he might be, that I would teach his son secrecy just as he had taught me my letters. I would send him to sleep with stories of burnings, I would teach him to run at a flash of red.

This is what I know:

I will keep my son, my beautiful baby boy, safe, or I will die trying.


	7. Stop Blowing Holes in My Ship!

I love Jack Sparrow.

Moving on: Had Merlin truly been just goofy, brave, ordinary Merlin, I would have shipped him with Gwen. Or, to be clearer: I ship them first season and would have continued to if they'd stayed like that. If Merlin hadn't been magic and Gwen had grown up in Ealdor, than they would have been perfect for each other. But instead, Gwen had to grow and change as her father was slaughtered, she was kidnapped - multiple times - her brother died, she was enchanted, she became queen - Gwen changed. Not in a bad way, but she was no longer the easily flustered "Gwen". She was Queen Guinevere. Merlin, in turn, became Emrys, no matter how much he tried to hide it. His goofiness had to hide ever more difficult decisions and more painful memories. Maybe he wasn't even using it as a mask; maybe it was a release, a chance to take a break from destiny and doom. They both grew up, and thus Arwen and . . . And I still can't decide whether I ship Merlin/Freya or Mergana, but it doesn't matter, because neither of them worked out. Sigh.


	8. This is What I Know: Part Two

**Author's Note:**

 **If I missed anything you think Hunith would a) know about and b) comment on, please let me know. I nearly left out Uther's death which is, you know, mildly important.**

This is what I know:

My son made me roses in the middle of winter and kept our hearth burning on nothing but air. He made the single small egg we managed to get from the chicken into one as large as his head, and the yolk was none the worse and lasted far longer for it. He made the sparks dance for me just as his father had whenever my eyes grew sad.

How can Uther say this is evil?

He heard the others speaking of it, calling it evil, and saying anyone caught harboring magic would be burnt, and he nearly killed himself trying to stop to keep me safe. He feared he was a monster.

I kissed his head and promised him he was precious and loved and told him not to fear for me.

This is what I know:

Even with his help, the years were hard. I had no husband to help in the fields, so our portion was small. I cut my own dinner in half to keep him fed, and still I feared his small frame would give up his beautiful spirit some cold winter.

I woke from nightmares that Cenred had taken him and twisted him into a weapon or that Uther had dragged him from my arms and had him drowned. I had never seen Uther before, so he remained a vague monster with flames for eyes.

When slavers came, I saw him bent under the weight of cursed shackles. When bounty hunters did, I drew him close and tried not to look at those filthy cages. I raised him to fear every stranger, to value his secret above all else.

I feared for him, but I never feared him. Not when he blew down a grove of trees in the forest in fit of childish temper. Not when he lit our hut on fire in the throes of a nightmare. Not when raiders came and he threw one into a tree.

I just held him close and kissed his tears away.

This is what I know:

My son learned his letters quickly. He gobbled them up as if they were the candy we could never afford.

He did not fight half so well as he read, but this didn't worry me. What did I care if my son couldn't wrestle as well as Frederic or swim as fast as Thomas? He was mine, and he was far more special than all of the others combined.

But when Will teased my Merlin about being the worst hide and seek player he'd ever met, my heart seized with fear.

After all, my son would be playing that game his whole life long.

I dragged him to the woods and taught him to run. Every evening we would race through the trees, dodging under branches and jumping over roots. I told him to run faster. Always, always, I heard horses crashing behind us, their riders greedy for my son.

I taught him to hide, showing him every nook in the village I knew of and helping him to create more. I taught him where he could safely jump from the ridge to the river and where it would be a death sentence to do so.

Will did not understand why, but when he saw what I was doing, he helped To do the same.

This is what I know:

Will was the only friend my Merlin really had. I was grateful to him for that and gave him the love and the care his own mother never seemed to.

That did not change my terror and my fury when I discovered he knew our secret.

Merlin soothed me. Will would never betray us. Who would he even betray us to?

I was soothed. But it did not change the fact that my Merlin's power was growing ever greater. It responded to his wants and needs, not to his conscious will, and it was only a matter of time until the whole village knew.

Stories trickled in with merchants. King Uther's son, Arthur, had taken charge of his father's patrols. It was his sword that slew magic now.

He joined my nightmares quickly. I saw him chasing my son through the woods with a lit torch. It always ended with my son standing on the ridge just over the stream at its most treacherous with rocks jutting up. My son would look between rocks and and flame, and then he would jump, falling, falling . . .

My son's magic grew, and with it, so did my fear. I wished more than ever for Balinor. He could have taught my son to control it. We could have been safe. We could have been happy.

Instead, weeping, I sent my son away with a letter to an old friend.

My nightmares got worse.

This is what I know:

My son sent money with every letter. He kept them light, with reassurances for me and jokes for Will. I sent anxious questions back with Will's retorts and prayed my son would be safe. The money saved Will and I that winter, but I would sooner starve than receive word my son had been caught and burned.

He wrote that he worked for Prince Arthur who he claimed was a prat. Strangely, that reassured me. The word didn't fit the monster I'd constructed in my head.

When Kanen came and our plea to Cenred went unheard, I resisted the plan to go to Uther. I wanted nothing to do with the man.

But I had no better ideas, and eventually my neighbors' pleas convinced me. They thought I would have the best chance.

It lifted my heart to see my son again. It was worth far more than any wage to wrap my arms around him.

Gaius said that he had learned control. I dared to hope he might come home to stay.

My pride was not hurt by kneeling to Uther. I would have done it without hesitating if it would have saved Balinor; I would do it now to save my village, and if ever my son was caught I would beg until my voice gave out if it would only save him.

His madness was not apparent, but he was hard and cruelly practical. There were no flames in his eyes, but now I had a face for my nightmares, and I had seen the courtyard where so much magical blood had been spilled. My son had met me in it, and he had unknowingly showed me the dining hall where his people had been slaughtered with smiling pride.

I could not wait to drag him from that place.

The prince was kind. I had nothing against him, but I did not trust him with my son. I wanted him home, and home I would have him.

It was hard to trust any who were of Camelot, but I could not help but love Guinevere and the lady Morgana, and fancied he was fond of the latter in a far different way than I. I might have imagined it. Every mother wants her son to be happy, and none more so than I. None deserved it more than Merlin, after all. Some would say she was above him, of course, but I knew far better than that. Titles counted for nothing, and even if they did, my son was a lord, even if he himself did not know it.

Perhaps that was why I disliked the prince. I saw him well fed and warm and saw everything my son should have had. Seeing the one in all his finery and the other in a jacket so thin and threadbare the prince would no doubt use it for rags tugged at my heart.

The prince came to aid us though. That counted for something, even if it did bring back every last one of my nightmares to have him here in Ealdor itself. I had to stop myself from crying out when and Merlin went to the forest to gather wood. I settled for quietly asking Merlin to stay away from the ridge.

I didn't have to explain. He understood.

Arthur was arrogant, but he had a good heart. So did Will, for all his complaining. He and Merlin greeted each other like brothers and then . . . Then Will was gone.

I didn't blame the prince. The raiders always killed when they came, except when Balinor had been here. I didn't blame him, but my heart still hurt when I realized Merlin could never stay home with me now. He was needed in Camelot.

My heart quaked a bit as I did it, but I pulled the prince aside before he left. I offered him the best bread I could bake, coated with the last of the honey Will had gotten from the woods. I coddled him like a mother. I could tell he needed it, Pendragon or no. There wasn't a mother in the world that could have turned him away.

And in true motherly fashion, I pulled out an iron poker and told him to take care of my Merlin if he valued his life. I think I startled him a little.

Then I pulled him into a hug. He might be a prince, but I could tell he needed one.

In his next letter, Merlin told me the prince liked me. The poor lad had never known a mother, and I suspected Uther was not the kind to give his son many hugs.

Will's loss hurt me deeply. It hurt Merlin too. He hid his pain well, he always had, but I could read between the lines of his letters. He was hurting badly.

It was him I feared for when I thought myself dying and him I scolded within an inch of his life when I learned what he'd tried to do. Didn't he know I would die a thousand times over for him?

Then I broke down and cried, clinging to him. No mother wants to think about burying her son. (And I would have buried him, Uther, and given him the biggest marker I knew how to make, no matter what you had to say about it.)

This is what I know:

It wasn't until the second time my son met Lancelot that he wrote to me of him. When I learned Merlin had been careless enough to show him the truth, I couldn't decide if I wanted to smack him or hug him. It didn't matter as I couldn't do either. My son wasn't here.

I was glad he had a friend who knew, though. It would be good for him.

A dark haired man who carried a sword came to Ealdor a few months later. He said he was a wanderer and offered to do chores in exchange for a place to sleep that night. The others thought I was mad when I gave him one.

They didn't understood why it mattered that his name was Lancelot.

He froze when he saw Merlin's letters to me on the table. He must not have known of the connection.

"You're his mother?"

"You're his friend. He speaks very highly of you. He says you saved his life."

"And he mine, many times over. I've never met a more selfless man."

Man. When had my boy become a man?

"He says you . . . Know?"

"He's a brave man to practice magic in Camelot."

"Brave like his father."

Bandits attacked while he was there. He helped to fight them off. So did I, of course. We all remembered the training we'd gotten when Kanen had come. It seemed to impress him for some reason.

Before he left, he said something about how Merlin's father wasn't the only one Merlin had gotten it from.

I asked him to look after Merlin for me, if he ever came across him again. He swore he would.

This is what I know:

My son did not tell me of the dragon until a month after it had broken loose. Why would he have spoken of it sooner? He had no way of knowing it would have meant anything more to me than yet another risk my boy was taking.

He did not write to me sooner because the hurt was still too great.

He told me about his father. He wasn't angry, not anymore, just drowning in guilt and begging for absolution, even if he didn't realize it.

My poor, poor boy. He had so many burdens to bear. He feared I would hate him for setting the dragon loose. How could I? How could I hate him for anything, much less something so necessary, so natural?

I loved him, and I told him so.

He told me what happened to Balinor. I wept for my boy's pain and for my own. I wept for my husband's lonely life.

But I was also glad. Glad to finally know. Glad that he had gotten to meet his son, however briefly. Glad he had died fighting for him honorably instead of in a painful execution. Glad he had died knowing he was loved and not alone.

Oh, Balinor, my love.

This is what I know:

My son's letters grew sadder, warier, more cautious.

He told me the lady Morgana could no longer be trusted and begged me to be careful. He sent me a pendant he said he'd enchanted to protect me. I wore it every day.

He told me of his Freya's death a year after her passing. I ached for him and worried more than ever.

I knew now that my son did not always tell me things.

This is what I know:

Lancelot died. I cried for him.

Uther died. I cried for the poor boy who had now lost both mother and father, and I cried for my Merlin who feared he had ruined everything. I did not cry for the mad king. I confess my heart was lighter to know he was gone. One nightmare was vanquished, and my son was safer for it.

Merlin started sending more money home. He was the king's manservant now. He sent so much I sent a tart letter back asking if he was keeping any for himself and what he expected me to do with it all; he responded by sending me a necklace with a rose pendant hanging off it and suggested I start saving up for another village cow.

I was glad when Guinevere came. I was happy to help her for her own sake as well as for Merlin's. She's a sweet girl, and I was as glad for her company as I was for a second set of hands.

She awaited Merlin's letters as anxiously as I did, and worried nearly as much when she saw how tense their contents were. I could not let her read them, of course, but I told her the important parts. I think she assumed I was trying to spare her pain regarding Arthur.

I did that too. I knew well the pain of a broken heart.

Merlin came. I helped Isolde as best I could and only wished I could have done more, especially when I saw how worried Tristan was for her. Arthur and Guinevere were together again at least, and that was something.

Then everything went wrong. They ran for the woods as did most of the village. I followed, hoping to get one last glimpse of my son.

I did. I also saw the dragon. It - no, he - killed the men who would have followed my son before making as if to fly away.

I couldn't help myself. I ran forward.

"Dragon! Kilgharrah!"

He hesitated when he heard his name and landed again.

"How do you know my name?"

"How could I not? Did you honestly think neither of them ever mentioned it? Merlin doesn't just call you "the dragon" in his letters you know."

"The young warlock?" Who I was finally seemed to hit him. "You are his mother."

"Yes. Next time you try to kill me, I would appreciate if you thought through how Merlin might react first. If he gets himself killed trying to save me, I'd never forgive myself - or you, if it were your fault." I looked at him critically. "I'd have thought you'd be wise enough to know that."

I was afraid, for a moment, that I had offended him. When he finally got over his shock, however, he made a sound that I assumed was a laugh.

This is what I know:

My son was brave. He always is. They retook the kingdom. He came to see me and to take care of the mess his dragon had left.

I still treasure the look on his face when I told him I'd had a nice talk with Kilgharrah. More than one, actually. Even dragons get lonely once in a while, and I was always eager for more tales of my son.

I came with him back to Camelot for a week. Arthur and Guinevere were married. She looked radiant. I came home, although it seemed lonely now, with no Balinor, no Will, no Gwen, and no Merlin.

Kilgharrah came every few months. I eventually figured out that he was elderly, even in dragon terms, and that the years weighed heavily on him. He had stories he wanted to tell. Why he didn't tell Merlin, I don't know; perhaps he thought my poor boy had enough burdens.

My beautiful, suffering boy. His letters tried so hard to be cheerful. Emphasis on tried. I know my boy, and I'm no fool. I could read between the lines. I started sending letters to Gaius in the hopes he would have some tidbit Merlin was trying to spare me from; ironically, Gaius had done the same. We exchanged what we knew and filled in the gaps as best we could. I pried as much as I could from the dragon and fretted. Merlin, my Merlin, be strong. I love you, my brave, beautiful boy.

Elyan died. I hadn't known him, but my son grieved, so I grieved with him.

Things got bad, I knew that much.

Instead of a letter, Merlin showed up himself.

This is what I know:

Arthur had died. Kilgharrah was dying. Morgana was dead. Merlin was . . .

I was very glad Merlin had come home.

He poured the whole story out to me between sobs. He blamed himself. I blamed everyone but him. What had they all been thinking, handing him riddles and expecting him to come up with miracles and then telling him it was his responsibility to fix it?

If I ever saw Kilgharrah again, I was going to give him a piece of my mind.

He was nearly broken. They had nearly broken my beautiful boy.

I wrapped him up in blankets like I used to do when he small and sick. I bought a wagon and an old horse and loaded them both up with everything I had left that I cared about. Ealdor had nothing for me now.

I got us both back to Camelot. Gaius was frantic. They all were. They thought they'd lost him too.

Gwaine was dead. I knew him only through letters, but I still wanted to scream. I had had more than enough of death.

Guinevere was struggling. She knew the truth now, and it was hard to handle on top of everything else. She was glad to see Merlin, glad to see me, but I knew that look in her eyes. She blamed magic.

So I sat her down and told her the whole story. By the end of it, she was crying - poor dear certainly had plenty to cry about - and badly in need of a mother. Her's wasn't there, so I did what I could.

Most of them seemed to be motherless, actually. Gwen, Percival, Leon . . . They gravitated towards me, seeking comfort they had long lost.

Our talk did Gwen - the queen, now, it was hard to remember that - a lot of good. She lost that look in her eyes. She and Merlin helped each other.

He crept out of his shell bit by bit. Gwen repealed the ban on magic on the sole condition he would take the position of Court Sorcerer so that no one could take unfair advantage of it. He accepted, somewhat reluctantly at first, but he grew to find happiness in it. How could he not, with friends who slowly grew to realize the myriad pranking possibilities inherent in it?

An old friend of his, Gilli, came to Camelot. I was glad to meet him. He and Merlin got on well. Neither would stand for bullies.

My husband's house was reinducted into the nobility. My son swore his loyalty to the crown in the ceremony in a voice that trembled with thick emotion. In a voice meant only for his queen, he swore he would not fail her as he had failed Arthur.

Her eyes were overbright when she assured him he hadn't failed Arthur at all.

I wish one of us had managed to make him believe it.

The lords eventually brought up the issue of an heir, some more politely than others. They suggested Guinevere remarry. It made sound political sense, I suppose, but she couldn't bear to do it. The lords suggested she was unfit to rule.

MY son suggested they rethink that statement. Some listened to him. Others took to swords.

Sir Leon offered to prepare the knights. Merlin told him not to bother. He left that night.

He came back a week later and informed Guinevere calmly that the lands of three former lords needed new men to oversee them. He also informed her that maps of the kingdom might need to be altered to account for a few changes in the topography.

I could see the darkness in his eyes trying to devour him. Whenever it reared its ugly head, I would hold him tight and rip him from it, snarling at it that he was mine.

He healed Aithusa, slowly but surely. We grew to like each other.

Kilgharrah died. Merlin was with him when he did. He spent a week in the library after that, burying his grief in research. He was trying to find the meaning of a word in the dragon tongue that had apparently been the dragon's last.

He needed the distraction, or I would have saved him the trouble. It wasn't a word, it was a name.

There's only one name any son says when he lies dying.

We were a strange bunch. I devoted myself to coaxing those rare smiles out of Merlin. He devoted himself to making me happy and protecting the lot of us with a fierceness that became known throughout the five kingdoms - five that became one, slowly but surely, all under Gwen, all thanks to Arthur. Assassins quickly learned their lesson, but Saxons didn't, and his rage when one of us was harmed made Aithusa look tame. Percival protected what was left of the Round Table, with the new addition of myself, with similar fierceness. Everyone was respectful to my son to his face, but behind, not all were. Percival had a way of convincing others that this was unacceptable. He viewed my son a little brother - one who had created a mountain range, but a little brother, nonetheless. Leon protected the queen with a devotion that spawned rumors that the rest of us put out just as quick. The queen just tried to keep us all afloat.

Gaius died. We pulled Merlin through. Somehow.

This is what I know:

The Druids say my son is immortal.

He does not want to be.

I am dying. He is trying to save me, and he might, this time. He might next time. Eventually, there will come a time when he will fail.

This is what I hope:

I hope he will be happy. I hope he will find comfort and love in the long years that await him. I hope he will overcome this grief.

I hope.

This is what I know:

I know this as surely as if I had seen it, although I have not, will not, at least not alive.

I will die. Merlin will lay me to rest at the Lake of Avalon.

He will extend the lives of his friends far beyond what should be possible until even they are raising their eyebrows as Gaius once did.

His friends will die.

When Gwen dies, he will retreat from the world for a while, and Albion will fall.

He will overcome his grief and help the next hero and the next. He will be strong and brave and loyal because he will not know how to be anything else. He will save the land, time and time again.

And he will grieve. He will never forget us.

We will watch him, and we will ache at his pain.

And we will be given another chance.


	9. The Once and Future King

**Merlin isn't mine.**

Kilgharrah said Arthur was the Once and Future King. He says this throughout the show.

But if you think about it for a moment, this doesn't actually make sense.

Now, if Merlin, after Arthur's death was to say this, it would. Arthur used to be king, and, someday, he would be again. Once. Future. Done.

But Kilgharrah first said this back when Arthur was still a prince. How could he be a 'Once' king, if he wasn't even king yet in the first place? He continues to call Arthur this once he becomes king, but again, his reign should be present tense, not past.

What if . . . What if Arthur was actually destined to be king three times? What if he was called this in the fifth season because he had 'once', hundreds of years ago, been king, was currently king, and would be king in the future?

If that were the case, then who was Arthur's previous incarnation?

Arthur's destiny, we're told, is to unite the land of Albion and return magic to the land. Set aside the magic for the moment. Who do we know who fulfilled the first half of that destiny?

King Brutë, that's who. The man who turned a bunch of squabbling tribes into a kingdom. One of Arthur's ancestors. And probably a member of that original Round Table that Arthur, despite having a bad knowledge of history, recognized immediately and respected.

What of Merlin? Was he in Arthur's previous life?

Maybe. After all, Arthur noticed "something" about him. Maybe he sensed the magic, or the destiny, or just the insolence.

Or maybe he recognized him. This would be somewhat depressing, as it would indicate that he wouldn't remember Merlin in his next life. However, we actually don't know that he had forgotten. Merlin's not the only one who can keep secrets, after all.

But perhaps Merlin wasn't in his past life. Either way, this brings me to my next point: magic. Because, in a strange way, Arthur did return magic to Albion.

Merlin is "magic itself", after all, and besides even him, magical attacks really seemed to pick up around Arthur's twentieth birthday.

Granted, that's not what Merlin and Kilgharrah had in mind. But let's face facts: magic didn't actually need to be returned to Camelot. Legalized, yes, but that's not what the prophecy says. It says returned, despite the fact the magic hadn't seemed to have left.

In other words, this seems more a job for a future Arthur, one who returns to find Albion truly bereft of magic. This would only happen if Merlin had left, so let's assume the memories got to be too much and he moved elsewhere. America, Australia, doesn't matter. Arthur would have to go and get him back, returning magic, and perhaps reviving some of those creatures of the old religion in the process. After all, doesn't anyone find it odd that all the magical threats seemed to wait to attack until after Merlin came to Camelot? Destiny? Or were they drawn to his magic?

So if Brutë united the kingdom and future Arthur (let's call him Bradley) is going to return magic, than all Arthur would have to do would be to cultivate friendships and loyalties so that he'd have people to help him in his final life, something, on the whole, he did well.

Just a thought.


	10. This is What I Know: Part Three

This is what I know:

I have had the dreams for as long as I can remember. I have lived one life by day, (poor, but we made do), and another by night. (Dangerously poor, in a medieval village.) It was strange, but I thought little of it. They were only dreams.

Then I dreamed of Balinor for a week before I met him, and I knew they were far more than that.  
Particularly when he confessed he'd dreamed of me in that time period too, the same dreams, or near enough.

We lived in a world that was falling to pieces around us, but we didn't care. We were young and in love.

We got married.  
The night I dreamed he left me terrified me, but he stayed right there with me and swore not to go, so the terror left me, bit by bit. 

He dreamed of hiding. I dreamed of a tiny kick. 

I had never felt so much joy. I was sure it meant I was pregnant now too. I rushed to the doctor. 

I wasn't pregnant. 

This is what I know: 

We had no children. We wanted them. I yearned for the son of my dreams so much it hurt, but he was not there. I missed him, the boy I had never really met, the one I worried so much about when I slept. I started worrying for him during the day too; he was in danger, in my dreams, and I had no way of knowing how it all would end. 

I couldn't bear it, if he died. 

Balinor understood. He felt it too, I think. He never saw the boy in his dreams, but he wanted to, desperately, and he grieved for those he had lost and yet never really had. 

The desperation in him grew until one morning, we awoke from dreaming, and he grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the car. We drove and drove until at last we came to an empty field, and he pulled me out and shouted nonsense at the sky. 

They were the words from the dreams, the ones he had whispered to me in a ramshackle hut and told me would summon a dragon. He roared them to the sky, the terrible expression on his face telling me plainly he expected nothing and yet . . . 

Nothing happened. His shoulders slumped. He was defeated, more than he had ever been before. I touched his arm. 

And out of nowhere, a dragon came. 

I'm not sure who was more surprised, us or him, to be honest. It had just been a dream after all, to us, and from what the dragon said, my husband should not have been able to do what he had done. Something about their being only one Dragonlord left, not two, and that his actual Dragonlord was calling him now, so . . . 

The dragon, looking almost flustered, disappeared. We just stood there, in awe of the proof of our dreams. 

This is what I know: 

Someone knocked on our door the next day, but they couldn't seem to wait for us to answer it. They hurled it open - despite the fact that it was locked - and ran inside. 

He. He ran inside. 

He looked so thin. So desperate. So terrifyingly hopeful. 

He was the dream child. Older, sadder, than he should have been. He should have been in his late teens, not mid-twenties, but what did it matter? He was mine. 

He buried himself in my open arms, sobbing. Begging me to say I knew him, he couldn't bear it if I didn't remember - 

Oh, my son, you made me roses on winter days and made sparks into dragons. I may not remember how our story ends, but I know how it begins. How could I ever forget you? 

His smile was beautiful. 

Balinor had never seen him, never known him, but that had not made his desperation to any less. He'd had only second hand accounts of his son. He wanted, needed, more. 

Our son was home. 

This is what I know: 

Balinor dreamed of Merlin for three short nights. On the third, he woke up at midnight with a hoarse shout. 

I didn't wake. Nothing had ever been able to wake me in the midst of a dream, but Merlin woke, and he told me of it later. He wasn't surprised. He'd known it was coming since the first morning when Balinor had shared that at last he had met Merlin in both worlds. Merlin feared we'd be angry he hadn't shared what he knew, but we understood. How do you share something like that? 

I did ask if my own dreams were likely to stop soon, and he told me not for another eighty years or so.

When I pointed out I was in my late thirties, something akin to pride entered his eyes. 

I suspect my gifted son might have something to do with my previous longevity. 

We are happy. We met the dragons - plural dragons, Merlin happily chattering on about Asian and American ones and idly wondering how it was that with seven continents that all had their own dragons, he had been the only Dragonlord to survive, until now, of course. 

Merlin showed us all he'd worked for, all he'd achieved. We could not be more proud of our brave, wonderful son. 

This is what I know: 

The world continued to fall apart around us. Like the eye of the storm, we were untouched, but the rest raged around us. The country itself was splintering, ready to fall. 

We searched frantically. 

We found Will holding off an army of the undead with all the weapons a gas station could provide. He and Merlin embraced like brothers. My son handled the army with ease and teased Will about it mercilessly. Will upheld Merlin had cheated, and I upheld they were both insane. We were all laughing by the end of it, even Balinor. 

We found Gilli holed up in an abandoned office building, sniping passing monsters with his magic. 

We found Freya in Bastet form, fighting a griffin. Freya was winning. My son approached her with a spell that at long last allowed her to control both forms. 

I had never seen my son so happy. 

We found Gaius in a pharmacy that, despite everything, remained open. 

We found Lancelot holding together a group of survivors headed to the safety of London. 

We found Gwaine daring an Afanc to charge. 

We found Percival putting out a fire. 

We found. We found. We found. 

We found Gwen. We found Elyan. We found Mithian. 

We found Arthur. 

I'm sure, theoretically, my son let Arthur out of his sight at some point after that, but I can't for the life of me remember when. 

This is what I feel: 

Happy. Complete. 

As do we all. Our lives are beautiful things, and when they are done, we can rest. All of us. 

Even my beautiful son. 

This is what I know: 

The world fell apart, but we rebuilt it, and we rebuilt my son, bit by bit, until one day, his beautiful smiles weren't the rarity, they were the norm.


	11. The Tavern

The first few times Gaius said Merlin was at the tavern, Arthur stormed off to find him. He was never there. He was never anywhere as far as Arthur could tell.  
Arthur wasn't stupid. He knew something was up. Unfortunately, he just jumped to the wrong conclusion about what.

Arthur knew he wasn't the easiest man to get along with. That was why, every time Merlin went missing, he had two layers of lies. The first lie was that he didn't care. The second lie, for those who cared to find it, was that he was just worried because this was Camelot. Bandits, magical attacks, and wild animals that could eat overly skinny servants in one bite weren't just possibilities, they were the norm.

And that was true. But the deeper truth, the one he was afraid to admit even to himself, was that every time Merlin disappeared, Arthur was afraid he'd finally hurled one too many goblets, gone too far on one of his rants, or that the danger had finally risen past even Merlin's courage (insanity) threshold. Every time he left, Arthur was afraid he'd never come back.

But he always did. He'd be gone for three days and then show up one morning looking for woodworm in his headboard.

He wasn't sure what he'd do if one time he didn't.


	12. Regent

There was a reason Arthur liked being regent.

If he wanted to kiss Gwen, he could do it without worrying about her being carted away for witchcraft.

If something went wrong in the court, he didn't have to blame it on sorcery unless he was absolutely certain about it, and he didn't have to worry about Merlin or Gwen being arrested for it.

(Merlin and Arthur went on a hunting trip once. Merlin had woken up with a muffled scream while Arthur was on watch. He'd looked down, embarrassed, and admitted in a hurried mutter that he had nightmares about being burned at the stake. It was clear he expected Arthur to laugh at him.

Arthur didn't laugh. He had nightmares about Merlin being burned at the stake too.)

If Merlin went missing - of course he went missing, he was Merlin - he could send as many patrols out to look as he liked and go looking himself until his horse was nearly ready to collapse.

If Gwaine mouthed off to a noble, Arthur could ask him why instead of banishing him. If he had a good reason ("He was throwing knives at Merlin!"), then he could react in an appropriate manner. (He invited the noble to train with the knights for the day. He made sure Gwaine spread the word before time. It was a miracle the noble was capable of crawling off the field. All injuries had been accidental, of course.)

If, for reasons that had everything to do with the fact that he was prince regent now and nothing to do with said previous incident, he didn't want Merlin serving visiting nobles anymore, that was his choice and right.

Arthur wanted more than anything for his father to make a full recovery. But he had to admit, when Merlin drank some poison meant for him, it was a relief to be able to get the antidote to him without being arrested.


	13. Because I Really Love Crossovers, Okay?

Gaius had a skull he kept flowers in. Merlin kept it down the centuries as a momento. In the early twenty-first century, he opened an antiques shop and set it out as a decoration. A certain Sherlock Holmes wandered in one day, bored out of his mind, and hoping deducing facts about the merchandise's previous owners would help. Merlin was in the back, so Sherlock directed his observations to the skull, which he addressed as Billy. He was lonely enough that it made him feel better.

Merlin recognized that look. He let Sherlock have the skull for a bargain price, despite the fact it wasn't really for sale.

Sherlock kept coming back. He hoped that if he kept working on it, his deductions about Merlin would eventually make sense. Merlin liked the company, and it amused him to hear Sherlock's theories, as well as his rants that everything had a scientific, rational explanation.

Remembering some of his adventures in Camelot, he knew the idea of logical was even more ridiculous than the insistence on scientific.


	14. Binding Magic

I tend to take the "magic itself" bit of Balinor's dialogue very, very literally, mainly because I love powerful!Merlin. Which got me thinking about this headcanon:

One time, a couple of sorcerers managed to get a pair of magic restraining cuffs on Merlin. His magic was duly restrained.

So was the sorcerers', the hedge witches', the druids', the griffins' . . .

When an extremely irate Kilgharrah showed up, sniffling like he had a head cold, they had been only too happy to take the cuffs off. Everything got back to normal.

Word got out. No one tried that again.


	15. Magic Corrupts

I don't actually believe this. It's not really so much a headcanon as a dark and twisted AU what if.

What if Uther was right? What if magic really did corrupt people?

Morgana, Mordred, Gilli, even Merlin: the more they used magic, the more extreme and obsessive their actions got. A lot of them even seemed to lose it a bit beyond the end. It was most noticeable in Morgana, but even Merlin started showing signs of paranoia (understandable paranoia, but still), obsessiveness over Arthur's safety (You want to leave Gwaine to die? GWAINE?), etc. It's less noticeable in him because his goals aren't selfish like the others, but he's definitely not the same Merlin he was.

And the reason this theory is wrong: Of course he changed! He'd been making life or death decisions in secret for ten years while under constant threat of execution!

So not actually true. But it would have been an interesting twist if it were . . . I mean, the show is from Merlin's POV, more or less. Everyone's views on magic are either those who use it (biased) or those following Uther's crazed Purge (biased). We never get an objective study of how using magic changes you. Even Anhora was willing to let thousands starve to prove a point to one man.

Like I said, I don't actually believe this. Just wanted to see what kind of reaction it'd get.


	16. Merlin Likes Being Old

Merlin spends most of his time under an aging spell between adventures. After all, young people are expected to mingle, get socially acceptable jobs, rave about new technology, date, and a bunch of other stuff I really doubt Merlin feels like dealing with. As an old man, however, he has the perfect excuse to be reclusive whenever the mood strikes him, get money from his retirement fund (re: by selling antiques he's been collection for years), rant about how good things used to be, and talk wistfully about an old flame and dead friends. Plus, he gets to be grumpy and whap people with his cane. He likes whapping people with his cane. It makes him happy.


	17. What Merlin Got Up To

I firmly believe Merlin spent the Golden Age of piracy in the Caribbean and sided with the pirates in their battle against the East India Trading Company. Someone has to use a little magic to make sure Jack's stunts work. Merlin likes him because he reminds him of Gwaine.

Robin Hood's band of Merry Men, however, reminded him of the Round Table as a whole. It broke his heart to see it come to the same tragic end, and he vowed not to get involved again. He broke that vow when he heard four bright young magic users were going to start a school. He got a job working for Gryffindor and tried not to laugh whenever someone mentioned his name. ("Merlin's pants!" "What's wrong with them- Oh. Never mind. Hey, look, a distraction!")


	18. Spymaster

Servants in Camelot were either observant servants or dead servants. Everyone preferred to be the former.

Most of the servants figured out pretty quickly that something was up with the prince's new manservant. It took them a while to figure out exactly what was up though, and by the time they had, they knew not to mess with him. Anyone who could take on Cornelius Sigan and win was a) on their side, and b) not someone they wanted to tattle on. Besides, he was a nice friendly sort, always happy to lend a hand or some medical advice.

Eventually, some of the servants started coming to him whenever they saw something worrisome.

"My brother the woodcutter saw a dragon in the woods last night. Do you think there might be another one around somewhere?" (Merlin went white, muttered something about telling Kilgharrah to be more careful and ran off. The next day, the arm the brother had broken when he tripped and fell whilst running from the dragon was mysteriously better.)

"Lady Eva has the strangest gem in her room. I'd swear it glows." (Merlin was fired. Lady Eva was convicted of treason. Merlin was rehired. None of these events surprised anyone in the slightest, particularly not the last one. The maid who had reported it was arrested by Uther for charges of witchcraft a month later. Her mysterious escape was, of course, entirely unrelated to the fact that Merlin's clothes were covered in dust that could only be found in the dungeons.)

"The new stablehand's been sneaking off to the woods a lot." (Merlin was glimpsed following said stablehand. Merlin came back. The stablehand didn't. The other servants thought they probably shouldn't ask. They did, however, appreciate the sweet cakes that showed up at their table.)

Morgana tried to bribe a few servants into working for her. She made very generous offers. They did the logical thing. Money was tight, after all. They took the money. (Then they told Merlin and fed her false information. She figured it out eventually and tried to take revenge. Merlin came home with a split lip. A terrified guard who reported seeing Morgana said she could barely walk.)

Queen Guinevere made magic legal. It was announced in court that Merlin was a warlock and was to be the new Court Sorcerer. The Steward expected the servants to be more surprised. He'd thought they'd at least ask questions.

They did. They asked if they the spy network was official now.


	19. Mary

Mary remembered when magic was legal. Then King Uther had started the Great Purge, and that had been a tragedy and make no mistake. She lost three of her best cooks, and she missed Balinor. Very nice man that, handsome too, and he'd always liked her cooking.

The kingdom had troubles, but few enemies bothered her kitchens.

King Uther died. She made a nice roasted venison for the funeral.

King Arthur was a good lad. Sturdy. Right nice about her pastries too.

He married Guinevere. Strange, that, but she made a lovely cake all the same. None could have done better, not so soon after the Morgana affair.

Then the king went to war and didn't come back. Mary knew she really ought to make something, but she just couldn't.

Then that cheeky servant of his wandered in, looking dead himself. He reminded her of how Balinor had looked, right before the end.

Before she knew it, his favorite cakes were on the table, and she was telling him stories of before.

The world outside her kitchens was looking more and more like before, and inside her kitchens too, for that matter. Sometimes that cheeky boy'd come by and make dragons out of the fire she was spit roasting the boar on.

Other times he wouldn't come in for days and days, and she'd know he wasn't eating. That Gaius couldn't make a decent meal if his life depended on it. She'd send a maid, one of those pretty young ones who blushed when Merlin walked by, to drag him down to the kitchens. She'd whack him with her ladle and scowl at him, and he'd smile back and conjure up a rose to give to her.

She'd smack him again and then set him down at a table and fatten him up.


	20. Don't Even Think About It

Merlin never understood what the big deal was about parseltongues. Talking to snakes was the basis for some of the most standard ambush magic there was.

Unfortunately, when the horse gave way to the automobile, he had to give it up. He held a grudge against cars for years.

Then he realized cars didn't mean you couldn't use snakes. They just meant you had to make the snakes _bigger_. He didn't care what your method of conveyance was, a snake that was twenty feet around was going to make you stop and think for a minute.

Or he could use them to poke holes in the tires. But that wasn't nearly as much fun.


	21. Paycheck

**Author's Note: It seems like every time Merlin's paycheck comes up in fanfictions, it's to say Arthur isn't paying him enough, probably because a) that makes for a better story than "and everything was fine" and b) I don't think it's actually possible to pay Merlin enough for everything he does for Arthur. I really don't. HOWEVER, Arthur doesn't know everything we do, and I have a different theory . . .**

Admittedly, he'd been hoping the idiot boy would quit at first. Initially. He'd made the idiot's first weeks miserable, but it was impossible to stay mad at him for long. He was just so . . . genuine.

What? No. Of course they weren't friends. Of course not.

And when Merlin had said he'd be staying with his mother after that bandit attack, he didn't panic. Not in the slightest. Merlin wasn't his first real friend or anything. Hardly.

And he hadn't formed a back up plan. Not at all. Because he hadn't overheard Merlin and his mother talking, and he hadn't learned that Merlin sent most of his earnings home, and he didn't know that those earnings were crucial to supporting Hunith. Of course not.

And the nonexistent back up plan had not involved offering Merlin a raise, and it wouldn't have been a bribe if he had.

But without one word from Arthur, Merlin had come back, and everything was good. Excellent, in fact. Except, well, life threatening situations abounded. And abounded. And abounded. And Merlin kept getting caught in the crossfires, and Arthur knew sometimes he could vent his frustration with others (Re: his father) on someone who couldn't retaliate (Re: Merlin, although, to be fair, Merlin could, and did, retaliate. Just not by putting him in the stocks.)

Merlin didn't leave, and Arthur eventually realized he wasn't going to. They were friends, no matter what anyone else said on the matter.

That didn't change the fact that Merlin went well and beyond his job description. It only seemed fair that he be paid like it.

Merlin was the best well paid servant in Camelot. Arthur made sure of it.

After all, the idiot had earned it.


	22. Gwaine

Gwaine looked disturbed. The expression was out of place on his normally cheerful face. The man had cracked jokes on the way to the Dark Tower, for crying out loud.

"Merlin, can I trust you?"

Merlin was offended for a split second before he remembered his own secrets and decided he didn't have the right to judge any of the knights on the score of secrecy. Except Mordred. He reserved the right to judge him as much as he wanted.

Gwaine was continuing. "I mean, I know I can trust you, but, can you keep a secret for me? Even from Arthur?"

"Are we talking taverns or treason?"

" . . . The latter."

Merlin paled. He hadn't expected that. "Treason as in regicide?"

"What? No! No! Just . . . something technically illegal."

"You do a lot of technically illegal things, Gwaine. What is it this time?"

"I've got magic."

Merlin gaped at him for a second.

"WHAT?"

"You know, magic." He wiggled his fingers.

"Yes, I know what it is, thank you, Gwaine. Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Merlin bit back a curse. "This is bad. This is really bad. What are you going to do?"

"I don't know. Find someone who can teach me to control it? I don't want to accidentally throw Percival across in the field in training or something. I thought Gaius might be able to help somehow."

Merlin bit his lip. "Maybe. We should go talk to him - "

An apple core hit him in the head. "What was that for?!" he demanded.

"You being an idiot!"

"What - "

"Is it really that impossible to trust somebody, _Emrys_?"

The color drained from his face. "Where did you hear that?"

"I overheard you and Mordred talking. What's up with you two by the way?"

"Nothing. Look - " A thought hit him. "You don't actually have magic, do you?"

"Nope."

He sighed and sank to the floor beside Gwaine. " . . . You're not going to tell Arthur, are you?"

"What are you, mental? You honestly think I'd tattle on my best mate?"

"So you're _both_ committing treason. Lovely. And Mordred too. This just keeps getting better and better."

Arthur was standing in the doorway. Merlin gulped.

Gwaine stood and stretched lazily. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm ninety-nine percent positive Lance knew before he kicked the bucket."

"Not really, no."

"Shame that. Hey, I don't suppose you could give Merlin the night off, could you? I want to ask him - "

"You want me to give Merlin - a sorcerer - the night off."

"Yep."

"GWAINE!"

"So that's a no, then?"

 **A/N: Obviously, less of a headcanon and more of an AU.**

 **Don't worry about Arthur's reaction. He might be yelling, but no one's getting beheaded. He just needs to cool off a bit, the poor dear.**


	23. Question

"You have _magic?"_

"Yes."

"Awesome! Does that mean you can help me cheat at dice? Does that mean _you've_ been cheating at dice?"

"Really? That's what you're worried about?"

"I _knew_ nobody could get that many sixes in a row! I knew it!"

"I give up."


	24. Family Tree

**A/N: In answer to a question about the last drabble: One of the speakers is definitely Merlin, but the other was intentionally ambiguous. It can be an AU Gwaine, a future Gwaine, or someone Merlin meets after Arthur's death. It's up to you.**

Arthur was wishing he had never suggested the project.

Tracing Merlin's lineage had been a natural step in elevating him, but Geoffrey had pointed out that Balinor had been a noble and had confessed he'd kept the records, thought he hadn't updated them.

Merlin had taken to the task readily, going in and filling in the death date for every last cousin. To do so, he consulted Uther's records of the Purge.

Myrddin, in year 929, age 41, executed in the Purge of Uther, then king.

Viviane, in the year 928, age 20, with unborn child, executed in the Purge of Uther, then king.

Gwalchmai, in the year 928, age 87, killed resisting arrest in the Purge of Uther, then king.

Nineve, in the year 930, age nine months, executed in the Purge of Uther, then king.

Taliesin the Younger. Ywain. Ganscotter. Elaine.

All dead at Uther's hand.

Merlin hesitated before drawing a dotted line by own name to indicate a betrothal.

Freya, age unknown, in the year 951, slain by the order of Uther, then king.

If Merlin gave up on the lot of them and blew the castle sky high, Arthur was blaming Geoffrey.


	25. One Day

After Arthur's Return . . .

Arthur flipped through the calendar. Red ink was crammed into every box that marked dates, but instead of appointments, names practically dripped from the pages.

Finally, in February, he found a single day that was completely blank. It was circled in gold.

"Why's it circled?"

Merlin glanced over his shoulder and smiled. It wasn't his old grin, the one he'd only managed to pry out of him a few times. It was his new one. Happy, yes, but shaking, as if he was barely holding back the tide of grief that had swamped him for so long. "Oh, that's my special day."

"It's your birthday?"

He snorted. "Hardly. No, it's Life Day."

Arthur stared at him. "Huh?"

"No one I've known has ever died on that day."

A horrible feeling started choking him. "Just one day?"

". . . It helps that we only have that day every four years."

In another time, in another world, it had been funny to make fun of Merlin. It had been funny to pour a bucket of water on his head. It had been funny to mock his fears and his dislike of hunting. Merlin seemed to expect the same from him now.

Merlin didn't understand why when he shamefacedly confessed to some new "weakness" or phobia, Arthur didn't mock him for it. He didn't understand why there were no cuffs around the head, why Arthur would never accept his quick "I'm fine's," anymore, why, why, why.

He didn't seem to realize that there was nothing, absolutely nothing, funny about the look in his eyes.

And the once cheery calendar was filled with the names that had put it there.

And Arthur had put it there.

And he would do anything, anything at all, to fix it.


	26. Other Employment Opportunities

**A/N: Blame any OOCness on the traumatic experiences both boys have just been through.**

Merlin did Arthur's laundry. He washed his floor. He brought him food.

That was in his job description.

He mucked out his stables. He went on hunts. He ducked goblets.

That was . . . not in his job description, but not terribly unreasonable.

He wrote speeches. He gave valuable advice. He fought in battles. He encouraged him. He helped him pursue Guinevere.

Definitely not in his job description, but Merlin, if asked, would probably say it was his role as a friend.

He tasted Arthur's food for poison. He fought assassins. He followed spies. He formed alliances and created loyalties to the king.

That was above and beyond the call of any duty he might reasonably have. Especially since he kept his activities in those areas secret.

And, apparently, he used magic to ward the city. He saved Arthur's life on a regular basis. He fought his kin, magically speaking, in order to protect a Pendragon.

Merlin claimed that was in his job description, as per destiny's orders. Had Merlin been well, Arthur would have thrown something at him. As it was . . .

As it was, the thought made him feel sick. Thinking of Merlin's condition at all made his stomach twist and his eyes burn, though he'd already wept himself dry in private.

No man is worth your tears.

And if the man wasn't dead? If, instead, he'd been humiliated and tortured and mocked for his loyalty and still refused to raise a hand against his tormentor? If, even after that, without one word of apology, he'd agreed to fight in Camelot's defense?

It wasn't your fault.

That was what they'd all told him. It wasn't his fault Agravaine had betrayed him. It wasn't his fault that Morgana had enchanted him. What had happened to Merlin had not been his fault.

Merlin hadn't known that. For weeks, only those involved in the conspiracy had. Agravaine, following his lady's orders. Morgana, once so compassionate, laughing cruelly in his mind as his imprisoned consciousness had struggled against her intrusion. As he'd begged her to stop this. Not to make him - not to force him to -

He hadn't known that Merlin was a sorcerer - warlock, he corrected himself. He had been angry. Had he been in control of himself, he would have demanded explanations. The circumstances hadn't been favorable - Merlin had been meeting with someone who'd called him "my lord" and talked about a plan - but, at most, he would have hit the man in a fit of rage and then exiled him. More likely, Merlin would have explained, he would have remained angry for a while, and then he would have grudgingly given in and gotten over it.

Morgana . . . hadn't wanted that. She hadn't wanted Emrys dead, was apparently forbidden to kill him by the fates themselves, and so had wanted him broken as the next best thing.

Pain from her would have hurt him, obviously. That was what pain meant.

But that wasn't what she wanted. She wanted him broken.

So she had used Arthur, an unwitting, silently screaming puppet, and Merlin hadn't known.

Merlin hadn't known he'd been enchanted. Merlin had thought the man he was loyal to had been in full control of himself. The most powerful warlock in the world had thought -

Arthur punched the wall outside of Gaius's chambers. Hard. His knuckles bled.

That was the only injury on him.

Merlin could have killed him. Easily. Without muttering a spell, without blinking.

There was loyalty and then there was Merlin.

He gathered up his courage and opened the door.

Merlin had eventually figured it out. He'd cast out Morgana before promptly collapsing. That had been a week ago.

Arthur hadn't seen him since.

It had been on Gaius's insistence. Arthur hadn't argued. He wasn't sure if Merlin's health truly required it, as Gaius claimed, or if Merlin simply didn't want to see him. He could respect either. From the looks Gaius had been sending him ever since Merlin had been arrested four weeks ago, he was lucky he hadn't been poisoned yet. He'd thought to give him time.

Then Gwaine had shown up in his study, bit into an apple, and calmly informed him that Merlin had been asking for him for a whole week now. Just as calmly, he'd said that if Arthur didn't get over himself and visit today, he'd drag him there by his ear.

The threat hadn't really been necessary.

"Merlin?" he asked hesitantly.

Merlin looked up from where he sat on the bed. He looked nervous. "Sire," he said quietly.

Arthur's stomach dropped. He walked into the room and shut the door quietly. "Feeling better?"

Merlin shrugged. "Gaius is going to let me out of bed soon."

"Good." The word hung quietly on the air.

". . . Do you need me for something?" There was a strange note in his voice he didn't recognize.

A month ago, he would have said, yes, my armor needs cleaning, so hurry up and get better. It would have been a joke, but he would have said it.

"No," he said forcefully, sickened once more at the very idea of it. Merlin had done enough.

"Oh." That note, whatever it had been, was gone. "What now, then?"

Arthur sat on a stool carefully. "Word's gotten out about some of your exploits."

Merlin's head shot up. "People know about the magic?"

"Among other things."

"And?"

"Envoys from all five kingdoms have sent letters offering you positions."

Merlin choked. "What?"

A halfhearted smile tugged at his lips. "The offers are generous, and all open to negotiation. You could have your pick, Merlin. Advisor, spymaster, court warlock . . . Actually, there's more than one marriage proposal in there, so you could probably be king somewhere if you fancied it."

"I don't understand."

Of course he didn't. And a part of Arthur, a very selfish part that screamed at the very idea of losing his first and best friend, wanted to tell him it had all been a joke. A prank, meant to break the ice.

But he had already lost him, hadn't he? And Merlin deserved far, far better than he had given him.

"You're Emrys," he reminded him. "King of the Druids. Ally of the Catha. Most powerful warlock to ever live. You have a dragon under your command, and that's only the magic side of it. You're also an excellent speechwriter, a superb councilor, and, apparently, a very good spy. People are finally realizing that, and given your current - complicated - relationship with Camelot, they're willing to risk offending me for a once in a lifetime opportunity of snapping you up."

Merlin's reaction was not what he'd expected. Then again, this was Merlin. Others' expectations of him seemed to exist solely so he could defy them.

He'd curled in on himself a bit, shoulders hunched. "You never really got the chance to react properly to all this," he said.

"Not really, no." Where was he going with this?

"Do you want me gone?"

Arthur's mouth dropped open. Where in the world had he gotten that idea?

Merlin laughed bitterly. "Right. Sorry. Stupid question, isn't it? Of course you do. I don't blame you," he added hastily. "Of course I don't. You need someone you can trust, not someone who's been lying to you for the past five years and has magic to boot. And for all that, you were still trapped with her in your head for nearly a month." The last bit came out as something close to a sob. He looked up at Arthur with true agony in his eyes. "For whatever it's worth, and I know it can't be much, you have no idea how sorry I am about that. No wonder you call me an idiot. I was the biggest fool in five kingdoms not to even think of it." He swallowed hard and his eyes turned pleading. "Please, sire. Just give me one more chance. I swear I can be useful, I'll do whatever you want, I'll do better, just please - "

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Arthur, please -

Arthur closed his eyes against the memory, choking it back, the rest of his mind struggling to comprehend what was going on.

He didn't understand. Unless - Oh.

Merlin had assumed he'd brought up the offers as a way of softening the blow of an impending order to leave, maybe even as a means of placating a potentially dangerous sorcerer.

As to why he would want to stay, Arthur had no idea.

He slid off his stool and knelt beside Merlin's bed, gripping his shaking arms. "You leaving is the last thing I want," he said hoarsely. "But after everything that's happened, I thought you might be happier if you did."

Merlin's expression brightened considerably. "You're not banishing me?"

"Why on earth would I want to do that?"

"Magic, treason, lying to my king - "

"Yes, you treasonously lied to me about having magic so you could continue saving my life in your free time," he said dryly. Then, more seriously, "I won't pretend I wasn't angry at first. But after what happened - "

"You've worked your anger issues out?"

Arthur flinched. Merlin smiled at him tentatively.

"It could have been worse."

"How, exactly, could that situation have been any worse?"

"She could have possessed me."

A sudden, horrifying image of Merlin Emrys attacking Camelot assaulted him. He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. "You're right. That would have been worse."

Merlin smiled brightly. "See, sire? Look on the bright side."

"Right." He rolled his eyes. Then, almost not daring to ask. "Merlin? Why didn't you kill me?"

"Sire?" he asked with blank incomprehension.

"When you didn't know that I was enchanted. When you thought it was me hurting you. Why didn't you kill me?"

"You're my king, sire," he said blankly. "I'm Emrys. The whole reason I'm alive is to protect you."

Arthur stared at him.

"That reminds me. Who's been doing my job? George?"

A little startled, Arthur just nodded. Merlin made a face. "Right. Well, don't worry. Gaius said I can be back to work in a little less than a week, so - "

"He said what?" Arthur demanded, leaping to his feet.

Merlin blinked at him. "Well, I'll be able to walk anyway, and if you don't have any objection to magic, I can use it to do any heavy lifting like mucking out the stables - "

"You are not- I just told you about all of these - " he brandished the letters, "and you're planning on mucking out my stables?"

"Unless you've finally learned what stable hands are for, than yes. I'm not interested in any job that takes me out of Camelot. I can't protect you from fifty miles away - well, yes, I can, actually," he corrected himself, "but it's exhausting. And I can't check for poison from there."

Oh, for the love of Camelot. "So you were just planning on picking back up on your old duties?"

Merlin shrank back from the anger in his voice. He'd never done that.

Before.

"Are you firing me?" he ventured.

Arthur buried his head in his hands. "You know that I lifted the ban on magic."

"Yes . . . "

"Which means the druids are coming into the city now."

"Yes . . . "

"Did it not occur to you that it might be a little awkward if half of our new allies are bowing to you while you're on your way to do the laundry?"

"They won't bow," he reassured him. "Not if I ask them not to. They're good about that."

Arthur resisted the urge to bang his head against the wall. "You're a dragonlord. Technically you're a member of the nobility."

"My father's house was cast out for magic, and I was illegitimate in any case, sire. There's no real legal objection."

Sire. He hadn't called him Arthur after -

He shut the memory down quickly.

"Merlin," he said very, very, slowly, "my point is, you've earned a promotion about a thousand times over by now. So think it through for a night, a week, however long, and for once in your life, decide what you want to do, not what you think destiny wants or what you think is best for me, and I'll draft up a proclamation and make it legal."

Merlin muttered something.

"What was that?"

He blushed. "I don't care about the recognition. I never have. I'll go wherever you want me. It's just . . . Someday, not now obviously . . . Will you give me a chance to do it right this time?"

"Do what right?"

Merlin wouldn't look at him. "To be friends again. When I've earned your trust back."

Something very hot and thick was clogging Arthur's throat. "Merlin, you idiot," he growled.

Before Merlin had the chance to take that the wrong way, Arthur was giving him the second hug they'd shared in their rather complicated relationship.

He hadn't lost him. He was still here. He was still here.

To be friends again. When I've earned your trust back.

You idiot.

Didn't he realize that all along, Arthur had wanted to say that to him?


	27. Trustworthy

Gaius was constantly amazed by the Pendragon obliviousness. Not Arthur's, but Uther's. The man took potions from him without a hint of suspicion, even when Merlin was awaiting the pyre.

The potion had been perfectly innocuous. Merlin was probably breaking free even as he turned it over to him.

But it planted the seed of an idea.

. . . .

The air still smelled of smoke a week later. He might have thought it was his imagination, had it not been only one of many strange occurrences that week. No wonder the stench still hung in the air. Not when the air hung so heavy and still, whispers running through it instead of a breeze.

 _Emrys. Emrys is dead. Magic is dead._

The whole world hung still in the shock of it. The druids' whispers grew till even he could hear. They rustled like leaves moved by an army through a forest. Fitting.

The druids were coming.

 _Merlin_!

The dragon had roared only once, but the beat of his wings, slow and steady, pulsed throughout all Albion.

The cobblestones were rosy pink. Lancelot's blood had dyed them, but unnaturally so. Magic's tribute to the fallen knight.

Emrys was dead, and he was not coming back. Gaius could feel the world slowly admitting it.

He knew what would come next.

The torches went out. Every fire in Albion, in the whole world, went out, a week too late.

He stepped into the council room smoothly. Uther had not yet had the Round Table removed.

Three chairs were empty. Lancelot had no further need of his. Nor did Gwaine, though the others didn't know it yet.

Gwaine had gone gently, wrapped in dreams so much sweeter than reality. A sleeping potion, Gaius had told him. To ease the pain.

 _It will help_?

So desperate. So innocent.

 _It will cure all your ills._

It had.

"Sire, there is little time. A curse approaches. I have brewed a preventative measure, but you all must drink it now."

The king had been expecting something of the sort. He waved his permission quickly, and Gaius passed out the bottles, careful not to confuse anyone's.

Leon had sided with the king. He got an orange bottle.

Percival had tried to help but hadn't done enough. He got blue.

"You too, Gwen," he said gently. She stood by the wall, staring blankly ahead. Her chair too was empty. A maidservant once more. She hadn't spoken to Arthur since Merlin -

She got a purple bottle.

"What exactly is the nature of this curse, Gaius?" Uther demanded.

Uther. Uther had started the Great Purge. Uther had driven Alice away. Uther had burned his beautiful boy at the stake.

He got black.

"It forces a person to feel every bit of pain, physical or otherwise, they have ever caused another person." _At least it will in your case._

Leon would burn. Percival's heart would quietly stop. Gwen would go the way of Gwaine.

Arthur barely seemed to notice him. He took the clear bottle without protest. Gaius took the last one for himself.

"Drink it all," he instructed.

They did.

Their screams were music to his ancient ears.

Arthur, for the first time in days, took action, lurching to his feet, trying to help. "It didn't work! Help them!"

He'd gone to Gwen, not his father, despite the other's proximity, so Gaius allowed him an explanation. "They already have all the help they deserve."

Arthur paled. He understood much quicker than Gaius had expected. "Gwen - "

"Would not want to live with everyone around her dead."

"What was in mine?" he asked, his voice barely audible over the chaos. The guards pounded on the door Gaius had locked with a bit of magic.

"Water."

"What?" he demanded.

Gaius moved to the window. The earth was heaving, the sky darkening with thick clouds that threatened something far more deadly than rain. Already he could hear the shrieking of the beasts as they moved ever closer to Camelot. Griffins, wyverns, a dragon . . . And those were just the ones Arthur would recognize. The ones anyone would have a prayer of defeating.

He looked at Arthur. He looked shattered. Broken. He had ever since Merlin had first started screaming on that pyre.

Gaius felt his own poison start to take affect. "As I said. The help that each deserves."

Gaius fell.

Most of the others' screams fell silent. The ones in the city had just begun.

Arthur fell to his knees.

Alone.

. . . . .

 **A/N: So . . . that was cheerful! And, yes, I got the spell from Christopher Paolini's Inheritance. Whatever you think of the series, you have to admit, that spell on Uther would have been agonizing.**


	28. Taliesen

The entire show was a vision Taliesen saw in the Crystal Cave. He had a very long talk with a certain dragon about what he was and was not to advise a certain young warlock to do. Our fanfictions are recordings of the ever changing future as he continues to change things in an attempt to create the best possible Albion.


	29. About That

"How long have I been asleep?"

"A couple thousand years? Give or take a few centuries?" Merlin rubbed the back of his head self-consciously.

"Right. Okay." He could do this, he could do this . . . "But you're here."

"Always," he promised. "And a lot of the others will come back too."

That eased a lot of the worry. He could deal with this. "I assume Camelot fell a while back?"

Merlin seemed almost offended. "Why would you assume that? Just because I made one mistake, suddenly I'm a total failure?"

Arthur stared at him. "Camelot hasn't fallen?"

"Of course not! And . . . And it might possibly have spread to include a continent. Or two. Or four."

Arthur was still staring.

"It's a long story."

 **A/N: Because Merlin would have never, ever, let that legacy of Arthur's fall. Also, Merlin has not been on a huge war of conquest, just for the record. Just imagine that you're in France, starving to death and looking over at a prosperous, sorcerous kingdom.**

 **What would you do?**


	30. Professor

"Mr. Pendragon."

"Sir?"

"On your test, you said Guinevere's father was 'Tom the blacksmith' - "

"Yes, sir."

"You misspelled 'Gawain' as 'Gwaine' on every occasion - "

"Well, sir, it is sometimes accepted - "

"You described Lancelot's relationship with Guinevere as 'annoying' - "

"It was!"

"Your report on Mordred contradicted nearly everything I taught in this class - "

"All due respect sir, but - "

"And instead of a three paragraph description of Merlin, you provided a five page essay, fronts and backs, cramped writing, in which the word "idiot" is used fifteen times and the word "magic" is used once. Instead of focusing on his various adventures or mighty deeds, you seem to fluctuate between a sort of exasperated list of insults and a fond overprotectiveness. Explain yourself."

"I didn't think it would be appropriate to use the word idiot any more than that, professor. This is, after all, a college course."

"And you got this information from . . . "

"My dreams. Professor."

"Really?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, you realize what I have to do of course."

"Yes, professor."

"Here you are then."

" . . . You gave me full marks, sir."

"As I said. See me after class, Mr. Pendragon. There's an old friend of mine you might want to meet. He was coming over today anyway."

"Oh?"

"Yes, he wanted to meet you. Something about seeing if you were as dollop headed in this life as the last one?"


	31. Both Sides

**A/N: As will become obvious very quickly, this is an AU. Also, shameless self promotion time, I posted a oneshot called "Emrys" a few days ago. I didn't post it here because it's got a bit different than what I've been posting for this collection. It's an AU, but, unlike this one which is a "Hey, what if the show had taken a different turn AU?", it's a "What if Camelot was a fairly modern country fighting a losing war against the sidhe, and Emrys was someone Arthur's starting to think he really should have known better than to make a deal with?" AU. Different, but incredibly fun to write. I may expand on it someday.**

 **And now for the actual story:**

Arthur wondered whether dragons were born cryptic or if it was something they grew into. Had one of Kilgharrah's elders ever looked at him and said, "Well done, young dragon, but that prophecy was still a tad too understandable. Try it again but with more metaphors,"? Was there some kind of test?

Arthur also wondered if he could get away with napping during the next council meeting. Sneaking around to go meet a dragon was all very well, but it was leaving him sleep deprived and . . . Not loopy. Princes of Camelot were never loopy. His razor sharp focus had just been dulled a little, that was all.

Regardless, the dragon wouldn't let him sleep until he'd had a say. Why he insisted on a face to face conversation when he could just as easily speak into his mind, Arthur didn't know.

He stalked into the cave. "What do you want now?"

"Emrys has arrived, young prince."

That caught his attention. "Emrys?"

"The most powerful warlock to ever live. Your guardian and your guide. The other half -"

"Of the coin, you've told me this before. He's here? When will I meet him?"

"You have already met him."

Arthur racked his brain. He hadn't met anyone he would have pegged as Emrys, but he supposed it made sense for the man to be in disguise. This was Camelot after all.

"Who is he?"

He could have sworn the dragon smiled. "Merlin."

"Merlin?" he sputtered. "That idiot is Emrys? You're joking."

"Why do you call him a fool? For protecting the weak? For defying a great warrior despite his lesser skill? For bravely standing against one more powerful than he not once but twice?"

Arthur ignored him. "There's no way. If he was that powerful - "

"He is not," the dragon interrupted. "Or rather, he is not yet. Just as you are not yet King, he has yet to come into the fullness of his power."

That made sense. The fool probably didn't even realize he had magic yet. That would explain why he came to Camelot.

"Acknowledged or not, his power will not go unnoticed in the world. The depths will awaken to challenge him. You must defend him until he can defend himself."

Arthur sighed. "I can manage that. It seems we'll be spending some time together. Father hired him as my manservant. Merlin saved my life, apparently."

"Oh, the irony," the dragon chuckled. "But see? Already it begins. This means you will have to protect him from more prosaic dangers as well, however. If your father discovers his abilities, all will be lost."

"I'll keep him safe," Arthur promised before turning to go. "Assuming I don't strangle him myself."

. . . . .

"Arthur?"

"Mm?"

"I have magic."

Arthur looked up. "That was good timing."

Merlin gaped at him. Whatever reaction he was expecting, that clearly wasn't it. "What?"

"I was worried you'd develop it while my father was still king. It would have been difficult to hide it from him. As it is - "

"What?"

Oh. Right. "This . . . is going to be a lot to take in, but don't panic, all right, Merlin? Remember the dragon?"

"You mean the one that burned down half the city? Kind of hard to forget it."

"Well, it used to live under the castle. I know what happened can't have left a great impression, but he did occasionally have something worth saying. The Druids have a prophecy - "

"Wait. You were talking to the dragon?"

"It's not what it sounds like - "

"Who told you about the prophecy of Emrys and the Once and Future King." Merlin looked incredulous.

Arthur froze. "How did you know?"

"Let me guess. You weren't supposed to tell me before now because it would have been dangerous or something, and, I don't know, you had to protect me from a bunch of threats behind my back."

Now Arthur was the one gaping. "How did you know?" he demanded again.

Merlin lowered his head into his hands. "You aren't the only one who's been talking to the dragon."

It took a moment for that to sink it.

"You've had magic all along, haven't you."

"Yep."

Arthur looked up at the ceiling for a moment. "I would kill that dragon," he said, "if it weren't already dead."

"About that . . . "

"It's not dead?"

"Nope."

Arthur grabbed his sword. "Excellent. I've been wanting to stab something for ages now."

Merlin considered protesting.

But all things considered, Kilgharrah deserved it.


	32. There Was a Reason

**A/N: I was reading on this site for months before I got an account. As a result, I'm now having to hunt down stories I liked, and I've been having trouble finding two. If you're familiar with either of them, please leave the name or the author in a review or shoot me a PM.**

 **In one, Arthur chases Merlin all the way to the gates of the city before finally catching him. He complains about how fast he is. He'd caught Merlin using magic, and Merlin, panicking, had fled. Luckily, it turns out either Arthur already knew or didn't care, I can't remember which.**

 **The second was a collection of oneshots in which the knights, Arthur, and Merlin get captured and have to use increasingly interesting methods to escape. That in and of itself isn't all that noteworthy, but in one of them, their escape plan involves creating a religious cult that has a chicken at the center of it. I think they called it Lord McCluckCluck, but I could be wrong about that. The bandit leader's reaction to the Knights of the Round Table paying homage to a chicken was pretty much what you might expect, and it was, as you might expect, rather hilarious. Any help locating either of the stories would be appreciated, but now, on with the show!**

. . . . .

There was a reason why Merlin hated hunting, and it wasn't because of the unicorn incident, or because he ended up having to carry all the game.

Or at least, those weren't the main reasons.

The main reason had to do with the times they'd been ordered to bring out the hunting dogs. The times when the Knights were grim instead of joking, and there was a terrified face instead of a stag at the end of the hunt.

Sometimes they got away.

Sometimes Merlin helped them.

And sometimes there was a body that they burned and left and nightmares of himself running desperately through the trees while the dogs bayed.

There was a reason he never liked those dogs.

And every time he went hunting _with_ Arthur, he couldn't help but wonder if someday he would be hunted _by_ Arthur.

There was a reason he hated to hunt.

. . . . .

There was a reason Arthur never made Merlin look after his dogs.

There was a reason he made up an excuse to leave Merlin at the camp the last day of the hunt.

There was a reason he never teased him on those hunts.

He assumed Merlin was seeing Will.

He never talked about the boy, of course. How could he? How could the crown prince of Camelot talk about a sorcerer that had died saving his life? But he hadn't forgotten. He would never forget.

Arthur wondered if Merlin ever saw himself.

Not that Merlin was a sorcerer, naturally, but he had been accused before. It was only luck that it had never come to this.

. . . . .

They had their reasons.


	33. Wandless Magic

**A/N: Thanks to the wonderful efforts of servant123 and Tsuta-chan, the chicken story has been located! It's the chapter "Gallus Domesticus Gallus" in The Great Escapes of Camelot by beingbored. As thanks (and because this headcanon is shorter than this author's note), I'm posting two chapters today. Enjoy!**

In the third Harry Potter movie in the Three Broomsticks, a wizard is using wandless magic to stir his tea and is reading A Brief History in Time.

I firmly believe this was Merlin.


	34. Multiverses and Mordreds

When people had told Merlin he was the most powerful warlock to ever live, he'd assumed they'd meant in Albion or, in his more arrogant moments, the world.

He'd never dreamed they meant the multiverse.

Because apparently Emrys was so special and so unique, there couldn't possibly be two of him much less hundreds. And apparently (though Merlin had known this from the start) Arthur without Merlin died really, really quickly, and being the Once and Future Prat that he was, that meant Merlin would just have to go from reality to reality to help him, now didn't it?

There'd been Angsty!Arthur, Warlord!Arthur, Illegitimate!Arthur, Abusive!Arthur, Overprotective!Arthur (that one had been kind of nice), Perceptive!Arthur (that one had been weird), Actually-in-touch-with-his-emotions!Arthur (that one had been even weirder), Poet!Arthur (don't even get him started on that one) . . . . The list went on and on. And since they all had that future bit tacked on to their titles, someday he'd get to run through the whole list again. Oh, joy.

A lot of things had been different from reality to reality both in Arthur's life and his death, but one thing always remained constant: Mordred always struck the blow. Always. Sometimes it was an accident, sometimes it was a well plotted revenge, sometimes it wasn't even the original Mordred, but it was always someone bearing the name, and it never got any easier to watch his dollophead die.

This time he thought he'd finally caught a break. Mordred had been a low level assassin. Clearly evil, so no one cared when Merlin killed him, not important enough to be a martyr and have evil villains of the family variety name their kids after them . . . . When the prophets started showing up saying that Arthur was to die at Mordred's hand, Merlin was feeling positively smug. Nope, Mordred's in a shallow grave somewhere in the forest. No prophecies needed here.

Too shallow of a grave as it turned out. It had been raining a lot recently. They'd been fighting bandits in the woods, and Arthur, well, Arthur had tripped over the newly exposed, skeletal hand and been skewered.

Destiny, Merlin decided, had a sick sense of humor.

. . . . .

Arthur was sick. For once, Merlin couldn't heal him.

"I don't understand why it's not working!"

Arthur coughed. It sounded like he was about to hack up a lung. Or possibly a kidney. "Don't worry about it. It's going around all the knights."

Merlin froze. "Who got it first?"

"What? Oh, I think Mordred brought it back with him from his trip to the south."

Merlin turned slowly to look at the wheezing Mordred. "Seriously? Seriously, Mordred?"

"It can't be a sword fight every time," he said defensively. "We'd get bored."

"Bored," Merlin said dangerously. "Bored."

After a very satisfying chase that ended with Mordred being turned into a toad, Merlin returned to his king only to discover he'd expired in the interim.

Merlin buried his face in his hands.

He gave up.

Not, of course, that that stopped him from going on to the next one. They'd see how much damage Mordred could cause as a toad.

 **A/N: Crack, obviously.**


	35. Legend

**A/N: Don't You Dare Think Otherwise!**

 **I found it! I found it!**

 **For everyone blinking in confusion, the above is the title to the Arthur-chasing-Merlin fic I was looking for. The ending is a bit too neat, but I love the beginning and Arthur's talk with Merlin.**

 **Now for the other news. Today's offering fits under the "musings" category which I get may not be as popular. Don't worry, tomorrow we're back to oneshots/drabbles.**

 **Also (aren't I just full of news today?), so far in this series, I've been mainly pulling from prewritten material. Some of these I've written since I started posting, but most were ready and waiting. I've a few more to go, but I'm nearing the end of my stack. This doesn't mean it'll be over when I do, but it does mean daily updates may no longer be possible. I've got plenty of time to write, but it's been a while since I watched the show, and ideas either come or they don't. HOWEVER, if anyone has a prompt or request, I'd be happy to try and write something for it. It might speed things along, although I'll warn you now, it might not turn out like you expect.**

 **So there you go! I've a few more days of prewritten to upload and then we'll see. Enjoy!**

. . . . .

I do not own Merlin. I am not trying to claim I own Merlin.

But.

But there is a reason it's my favorite kind of fanfiction to write.

When you write Avengers or Sherlock, or any other kind of fanfiction, you do it knowing there are specific creators out there that are known and that own the characters.

When you write Merlin fanfiction, you are contributing to a centuries long literary tradition of Arthurian legend. You are, by writing a drabble involving Gwaine and flying pigs, adding to the canon of one of the greatest legends ever told. You join a long legacy of poets, artists, authors, and bards who have all crafted works in praise of an immortal dream.

You can't tell me that isn't ten different kinds of incredible.


	36. The Mostly True Confessions

"I have magic."

Arthur looked up from his stack of reports. "If this is some kind of joke - "

"It's not a joke. I was born with it. I've been protecting you with it ever since I met you."

Arthur stared at him. "That's not possible."

"After everything that's happened in this past year alone, are you seriously going to sit here and lecture me on what's possible? This is Camelot. Silly little rules about sanity and rationality don't apply here."

"Magic," Arthur repeated, dazed. A thought occurred to him. "The fire when we were captured by Jarl. That wasn't natural, was it?"

"Nope."

"That explains a lot." He sighed. "Why did you side with me instead of Morgana?"

There was a long pause. "You know, that's a good question. I should have thought of that. I'm going to guess it has something to do with me being a selfless idiot, Morgana being sadistic as the Sarrum, and you having a bit of potential."

" . . . Right."

"I'll get back to you. Assuming you're not going to execute me."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Good. Banishment? Imprisonment? Stocks?"

"No, no, and tempting . . . but no."

"Am I fired?"

"I can't actually fire a knight, and you wouldn't be if I could. Merlin would sulk for weeks, and I need him to write a speech for me. Just . . . give me some time to get used to this alright?"

Gwaine grinned at him. "Don't bother."

A horrible suspicion started forming in Arthur's mind. "Why not?"

"Because I'm about as magical as Uther was."

Arthur resisted the urge to bang his head against the wall. It took a fair bit of effort. "I thought you said this wasn't a joke," he said wearily.

"It wasn't," Gwaine assured him.

"Then what on earth were you doing?!"

"Testing the waters."

"Testing the - what?"

"I don't have magic. A certain someone else who was with us at Jarl's on the other hand . . . "

Merlin poked his head in the door. "Er, Arthur? Can we talk? Oh! Hello, Gwaine. What are you doing here?"

"Oh, just talking to the princess. Had to make sure he wasn't going to throw a tantrum when you told him the big news."

Horror dawned on Arthur's face. "Merlin has magic?"

"Gwaine!"

"He might have mentioned something of the sort, yes. Right about the time he mentioned that he thought it was high time you knew."

"And this led to you confessing because . . . "

Gwaine looked indignant. "You can't honestly think I'd let my best mate confess to something like that without knowing how big a tantrum you were going to throw! I figured if you had too big a problem with it, I could let Merlin know on my way out, and someone else could try again in a couple of years. I'm used to a life on the run. He isn't."

"Right. Right." Okay. He could deal with this, he could deal with this.

Arthur wasn't really sure whether he should be mad at the deception or impressed at the friendship. Plus there was still the whole magic thing to deal with. He should probably do something about that.

He settled for banging his head on his desk.

It seemed easiest.

. . . . .

 **A/N: So when did you figure out something was up? I was tempted to include the "princess" bit earlier, but I knew it would be a dead give away. Thoughts?**

 **Next up: My take on Arthur's discovery of the legends. Hopefully it will be different than what you've seen before, and it's definitely very different than "Professor". After that, some birthday fluff, and then . . . We'll see. Remember, suggestions are welcome!**


	37. Quaking in their Boots

**A/N: anthi35, since you're a guest reviewer I haven't been able to reply directly, so let me thank you now for your dedicated reviewing, particularly for your request. I will attempt to write something freylin soon, but I can't give you an estimate on when it will be ready, as demonstrated by what follows.**

 **You know how I promised "Arthur's take on the legends" today?**

 **Yeah, this isn't it.**

 **That story is written.** ** _Hand_** **written. And since I ended up working four more hours than I'd planned on and felt sick for most of them, I didn't feel like transcribing it. Instead, I bring you this:**

. . . . .

One did not simply tell the Lady Morgana "no". She was one of those witchy types, and even a simple bandit like Gareth knew better than to set one of those witchy types off. Uther could say what he liked about magic. Gareth didn't care. He was a practical man, and practical men didn't philosophize about the nature of magic, they did the practical thing, which was to pay lip service to the king's laws when a knight was about and do what it took to survive the rest of the time.

And what it took to survive the Lady Morgana when she came to you about a job was to ask when, where, and who, and take what money she gave you and call it generous.

Gareth wiped the sweat off his face and counted himself lucky to be alive.

Then he started sweating again as he remembered what he'd just agreed to do.

It wasn't leading his men against a patrol of knights that bothered him. It wasn't going up against the prince regent.

It was that manservant.

Bandits weren't stupid, contrary to common belief. The few that had survived previous attacks had brought back word about a sorcerer. That, in and of itself was odd, but not frightening.

What was frightening were the details.

What was frightening were the rumors that drifted in from others in the circles the bandits traveled in. Alvarr and his gang. Druids desperate for supplies. Slavers who used to work for Jarl.

 _Emrys_ , they whispered. _Powerful enough to raze Camelot. Powerful enough to sink the Five Kingdoms like Atlantis._

And very, very, protective of his king, never mind that he hadn't been crowned yet. Very, very vindictive against those who dared lay a hand on him.

Gareth groaned. They were doomed.

Unless . . .

. . . . .

The bandits had rushed from the woods.

That was normal.

The bandits had swung their weapons in their first blows.

That was normal.

They had defended themselves and swung back.

That was normal.

The bandits had immediately dropped their weapons, put their hands in the air, and surrendered.

That was not normal.

. . . And they kept shooting nervous glances at his manservant.

That was definitely not normal.

Somehow, when Arthur was tying one of them up, he managed to scratch himself on the man's bracelet, which had a number of impractical spikes on it. A bit of blood had been drawn, but Arthur was more annoyed than anything.

The man had immediately started babbling out frantic apologies and begging someone named "Emrys" not to kill him.

Arthur was wondering if the whole world had gone mad or if it was just him.

His sole consolation, that Merlin looked just as baffled as he did, vanished as soon as the man said "Emrys". Instead, Merlin looked . . . Afraid?

Not for the first time, Arthur wished he had been born the crown prince of, say, Nemeth. Or Mercia.

He heard things were a lot saner there.

. . . . .

Arthur was reluctant to charge the men with banditry, if only because they were so pathetically bad at it. He mentioned such in the trial.

Gareth, their leader, claimed they had only attacked under duress, and they really hadn't wanted to, and could they please, please, please, have this discussion without his manservant standing there glaring at them.

. . . . .

The next time Arthur called Merlin a girl, Merlin pointed out he'd had a whole tribe of bandits quaking in their boots. Arthur pointed out that the bandits had been pathetic and hadn't even required a single tree acting oddly to be defeated.

Merlin, rather nervously, had asked what he thought made the trees act oddly if not random chance.

"I don't know, Merlin, but you have to admit it's odd. Whenever someone's about to stab me from behind, a tree always trips them or drops a branch on them or something. I asked Gaius, and he said something about dryads."

"Dryads?"

"Apparently they're spirits of the forest or something."

"Why would they want to help you?"

Arthur threw his hands up in the air. "I don't know, maybe they fancy me! I can't figure out _regular_ women, much less magical tree women, _Mer_ lin!"

"Magic. Saving a Pendragon's life."

Arthur's mouth dropped open, but he closed it again with a valiant effort. Apparently he hadn't thought this through. " . . . Stranger thing have happened."

To be fair, this was Camelot. Stranger things had. "Okay, maybe. And you told me about the light in the cave, so someone with magic clearly wishes you well, just . . . Arthur?"

Merlin had a rather strained expression on his face.

"What?" he growled.

"If you ever figure out who it is . . . Look, just trust me. They're not doing this because they fancy you."

"You make it sound as if you know something."

Merlin froze.

" . . . You know something. What is it? Merlin? Merlin, come back here! MERLIN!"

. . . . .

 **A/N: So, this started out as something funny about bandits, and then it was . . . Well, I'm not sure what this is, only what it's not: as Merlin pointed out, it's not slash. Other than that, it can be a reveal, a partial reveal, a tantalizingly close but infuriatingly not quite a reveal . . . There are so many fics about a bandit attack revealing Merlin's magic, it would be funny if it were a reveal, and Arthur found out, not because Merlin used magic to save him, but because the bandits were so terrified of him, magic wasn't necessary, and the lack of it caused comment. Hmm.**


	38. Books and Bunkers

**A/N: Set in a futuristic, post apocalyptic bunker. Return fic.**

. . . . .

The latest monster vanquished, Arthur had nothing better to do than examine Merlin's library. He'd never had the chance before. He was unsurprised to see it was extensive. The man's had centuries to build it up after all.

There were books of magic, as he'd expected. Science and medicine like Gaius had owned. Exactly like Gaius had owned in a few cases. There were a few books on cryptozoology. Arthur flipped through one. Merlin had scribbled notes in the margins, full of theories, corrections, and occasional confirmations or skeptical comments. Arthur snorted at some of them. At least the bunker wasn't short on entertainment.

Merlin'd written some books himself. Some had been written under pseudonyms; others had never been published. He hesitated over one marked _1650-1655_ before withdrawing his hand. Merlin deserved some privacy.

. . . And considering the state the guy had been in when they'd returned, he wasn't sure he wanted to know what had been going on in his friend's head. He had a sneaking suspicion it would make him fell guilty. Which was ridiculous. It wasn't his fault he had died.

Of course, a great many other things had been his fault. Like the fact Merlin's chest had more scar tissue than unblemished skin. A lot more.

He continued his study of the shelves. Conspiracy theories, guides to modern conveniences that had ceased to exist -

And Arthurian legend. A whole room of it. His breath caught. Anthologies, parodies, poetry, historical studies . . .

He grabbed books off the shelves at random and flipped through them.

Red. Red ink everywhere. Whole sections had been crossed out. Somewhere along the way Merlin gave up on corrections and just started heckling the bigger mistakes.

One of the books painted Arthur as the villain of the legend. Scorch marks like fingerprints scarred the pages. It was barely held together by a few threads of duct tape.

One passage, however, was underlined.

" _Oh, don't blame Arthur," Morgana said. "I don't. He's stupid, true, but he's not actually wicked_."

Arthur chuckled. Of course Merlin would - He froze.

" _Who do you blame?"_

 _"His shadow. Merlin. There isn't water enough in the world to wash the blood from his hands. If you knew what he had done to me, you would go mad."_

Arthur lowered the blood slowly. He picked up another one, desperate for evidence it had only been a phase.

"I wrote that one."

Arthur jumped. Merlin nodded to the book in his hands. "It's as true an account of our adventures as I could write. The editor made me cut out some bits. She said it was too implausible. The word my beta used was 'ridiculous'. Apparently you should have had brain damage from all the times you got knocked on the head."

"Maybe I did."

Merlin's lips twitched. He picked up a parody. "I wrote this one too. I thought it would help. To make fun. Some of our stunts were pretty close to it anyways. The goblin. The troll. The 1500th time you didn't see anything strange in a falling tree branch . . . "

"The mightiest warlock to ever live tripping over his own feet . . . "

He grinned. Briefly. Then he looked down. "I had to cut the death scenes. There wasn't anything funny about them."

"No," Arthur said quietly. "I guess not."

"Those were my favorites." He nodded to a corner.

"What are they?" He moved over to take a look.

"Fringe theorists mostly. A few fantasies. I wrote a couple."

He scanned the titles.

Every single one dealt with his return.

"Guess I don't need them anymore."

"Guess not." He glanced over a few more. "Zombie apocalypses? Really, Merlin?"

"Says the man who fought two undead armies."

" . . . Fair enough."

"Merlin!" Gwaine yelled, sounding panicky.

As one, they ran from the room. Gwen was standing by a mirror and a shattered glass. Gwaine stood frozen behind her.

"What's wrong?" Arthur demanded. Merlin was already muttering spells to check his wards.

"I - I - "

"I was teasing her. Went a little too far and BANG! The glass blows up."

"My eyes were gold. Why were my eyes gold?"

Merlin relaxed. "Magic."

"Gwen has _magic_ in this life?"

"Doesn't work like that. She's always had it. She's only just now expressing it."

"You don't sound surprised. _Gwen_ sounds surprised. Why aren't you surprised?"

A book flew off a shelf towards him. "Ever hear of mandrake roots?"

"Merlin, this is 600 pages long at _least_."

"712. Better get to reading, sire!"

"Merlin!"

He ducked around a corner, a true grin glowing. "I'll get you a book of beginner's spells, Gwen. You'll be killing griffins in no time!"

Gwaine looked thoughtful. "Hey Gwen, if there's a spell to turn hair pink - "

"No."

"Not even on the princess?"

"No!"

Gwaine pouted.

. . . . .

 **A/N: Gwen has magic because cutting it off earlier felt abrupt and because my sister really wanted a longer story about Gwen having magic. For those of you who have wanted expansions on other of my stories and are wondering why your requests have not been similarly granted, I will say only that you don't where I live. She does. And she's very, very good at looking pitiful in order to get a story written.**


	39. Presents

"Happy birthday, Arthur," Merlin whispered brokenly, staring out across the lake.

"That is most depressing birthday wish I have ever gotten. Surely you can do better than that, _Mer_ lin."

Merlin spun around. "Ar-Arthur?"

"I can't believe me I'm saying this, but it's good to see yo- Uh, Merlin? Can't breathe. Can't breathe. Right, that's better . . . You all right, Merlin?"

It was Arthur's birthday. What no one, not even Merlin realized, was that it was his birthday too.

Destiny hummed happily. Arthur for his birthday, Gwaine for Halloween, Gwen for Christmas . . .

After all, she owed the boy.


	40. Don't Be Afraid of the Dark

**A/N: Yesterday I wrote twenty drabbles. None of them are on this site. They were a birthday gift to my sister (Happy Birthday, Sis!). For the record, that is NOT her age, just the number of drabbles. They were all tooth rottingly fluffy.**

 **Well, fluffier than usual.**

 **Fluffish.**

 **Today we were celebrating, so not only is today's late, it's short. Aren't you glad I normally have no social life?**

 **(For the record, we went book shopping. It was epic.)**

 **. . . . .**

In Camelot, if a child says there's a monster under their bed, most parents grab a weapon before they check. Not to reassure their children, but because this was Camelot, and their children might well be right.

(Don't be afraid of the dark, darling. True, the dorocha attacked then, and the dragon, and the skeletons, but I'm sure - never mind, the warning bell's ringing again.)


	41. Avalon

**A/N: If Merlin was mine, 5x13 would have gone very differently. In other words, I don't own Merlin.**

 **ANTHI35: You requested Freylin. This has hints of it, but I'm 99% sure this isn't at all what you had in mind, so I'm posting another story with a lot more in it with a more satisfying - hopefully - conclusion. However, it doesn't really fit well into this anthology. I'll be posting it separately under the title "Lady". It's part of my "Emrys" universe. If you haven't read that one yet, it would be easier for you to understand if you did. If this setting doesn't satisfy, let me know.**

. . . . .

Arthur wasn't sure what he'd expected of Avalon. Some pretty fields maybe, or something magical.

He hadn't expected the memories.

They weren't his memories, not exactly. If they were anyone's, they were Merlin's, but he didn't see events through the warlock's eyes. Instead, he hovered like a ghost, viewing events from an angle he never had before.

He wasn't sure he liked what he saw.

Honestly, what had Merlin been thinking?

Oh, it wasn't the dragon that upset him, not really. It was the other stuff. The "I'm-going-to-go-on-a-suicide-mission-to-save-the-prat-who's-been-yelling-at-me-all-week-and-threatening-to-banish-me-every-other-day" stuff. The "By-the-way-you-killed-my-girlfriend-and-thought-a-headlock-would-make-me-feel-better" stuff. Or, worst of all, the "I-didn't-want-you-to-feel-alone-when-your-father-died-because-I-know-first-hand-how-that-feels" stuff.

Not that he would ever tell any of that to Merlin, of course.

What really got him though, was how obviously terrified Merlin was of being caught and executed. Admittedly, for most people it would have been a fairly rational fear, but after seeing Merlin take down bandits, monsters, and the undead, Arthur honestly had to wonder what terrors the Camelot guards had for him. Especially considering how often he managed to break out of jail. Seriously, those cells were worthless. Arthur hoped Merlin had told Gwen that.

The memories ran out eventually. They were replaced with other, more recent, things. Things that could only have happened after his death.

He wasn't alone in watching. Others stood with him. Lancelot. Gwaine. Balinor. Elyan. Freya.

It was painful, watching those left behind grieve. It was even more painful watching them die, one by one, but that was almost better, because that meant they'd be joining them in Avalon.

Gaius. Leon. Hunith. Percival. Gwen.

Merlin didn't join them.

That was agonizing. He could feel him out there, anchoring them to the world, preventing them from truly moving on. And he could watch him grieving.

Sobbing alone in the middle of the night with no one left to come and comfort him.

Standing helpless as Camelot faded and fell.

Watching as Merlin grew ever more isolated as magic grew rarer and rarer.

And maybe just a tiny bit of jealousy when Merlin started to move on a bit. It didn't feel right to watch him go on adventures with someone else, even if the situation was entirely different.

Outlaws weren't Knights, and that supposed "Prince of Thieves" didn't have a drop of royal blood in his veins.

Of course, when they died too, and Merlin was left alone again, he would have given anything to take it all back.

He learned to just be thankful after that, whenever Merlin allowed himself to have friends for a while. They watched his adventures with bated breath . . . Well, bated breath, banter, and various betting pools. Gwaine was there, after all.

He was glad, for Merlin's sake, when he found a sorceress who shared his curse of immortality, they all were. But it hurt too.

Freya, for the obvious reasons, although she got over it the quickest, surprisingly enough. The rest of them, though, kept thinking the same thing: I should have been there.

I should have been there, teasing him with Gwaine. Gwen should have been there to elbow them both in the stomach and tell him something sweet. The Knights should have been there to band together and tell her that if she broke his heart, she'd have them to answer to, because Merlin had suffered enough, thank you very much.

They should have been there.

Gwaine should have been there to pester them into naming one of their sons after him. Gaius should have been there to help him when he worried that he'd outlive his own children. Gwen should have been there to help with the births and be all five children's favorite aunt. Arthur should have been there, to spoil them rotten with presents while pretending he was doing no such thing and to tell them stories of how their father, the mighty Emrys, had tripped over his own feet. Percival should have been throwing them in the air and carrying all three daughters at once. Gaius, Hunith, Balinor . . .

They should have been there.

Merlin was happier, though. That was something.

That didn't stop him from going down to the lake sometimes, though. He'd talk to them, even though he had no idea they were actually listening. Sometimes he'd cry, other times he'd rant, and sometimes he'd act like it was just a normal conversation, complete with imagined responses. Those tended to be both amusing and infuriating, and they tended to end with Merlin calling him either a prat or a dollophead.

Merlin's children snuck after him once. After that, sometimes they'd come and talk to "the people in the lake".

The creepy thing was, sometimes they got the feeling they could actually see them. At least two of the kids had gotten the seer gene, and all have them had magic in spades.

And, thankfully, the longevity one.

The world changed. Time stretched on.

Then things got interesting again.

Not that what happened before that wasn't interesting, it was just Dorocha breaking through the veil and dragons coming out of hiding and an army of skeletons marching across Asia was _more_ interesting.

Modern society collapsed. Merlin and other magic users prepared to take a stand.

And that anchoring sensation got stronger and stronger, until suddenly, they found themselves standing on the shores of the lake.

Unfortunately, an Afanc was standing there too, but you couldn't be picky about such things.

"Hey, princess, you know how you were supposed to restore magic?"

"Yeah?"

"I think that's already been taken care of."

"Shut up, Gwaine."

The Afanc charged. They rushed to meet it, Arthur at their head, Excalibur in his hand. They charged with all the fervor of people who have felt helpless for far, far, too long and were finally allowed to do something about it.

The Afanc never knew what hit it.


	42. Merlinpocalypse

**A/N: First, some replies to guest reviewers:**

 **Anthi35: Thanks again for reviewing! As for the OC . . . Generally, I agree with you. I tend to prefer canon pairings and writing an OC as a romantic interest for a main character that's not a Mary Sue is nearly impossible. Unfortunately, Merlin's a special case as by the end of the show, the only girl he knows that's close to his age, living, and not a traitor, is Gwen. And while she,s now single, and they were kind of cute together first season, by that point, I can't see them getting together. Even if that had been on the table, within fifth or so years she'd be dead, and Merlin wouldn't be. In other words, it's an OC or nobody, and "nobody" is depressing, so I tend to go with an OC. Knowing the risks, I try to keep the brushstrokes broad (name, female, likes Merlin, has magic), so that people can fill in the blanks for themselves. She can be fiery, shy, confident, mysterious, funny . . . Whatever you imagine Merlin's true love being like. I'd use Freya if I could, but she's dead, and although some are very well written, resurrection fics for her always strike me as too implausible.**

 **And yes, I realize that I'm in a fandom where if it weren't for the implausible, all our favorite characters would be dead, except, oh, wait - they're dead anyway.**

 **Sorry, I'm feeling a wee bit bitter today.**

 **Guest from last chapter: Most of these are kept short because that's what I could come up with at the time, and most will stay that way. However, if there's one or two you particularly want to see more of, let me know. I might be willing to expand them.**

 **A quick note on the work itself: What originally sparked this whole thing was this image in my head of fire dancing in these beautiful shapes against a backdrop of stars. It was a beautiful picture in my head, and I couldn't really capture it properly. This is my attempt, as well as a fluffy, dialogue heavy piece. Despite the title, very little action. Sorry?**

. . . . .

The stars were brilliant in their blazing beauty high above. Beneath them, Merlin stood on the field just outside the castle's walls. Flames danced around him in elaborate shapes. A flaming fox darted through the grass before bounding into the air, blurring into a long ribbon of flame. A phoenix swept down from the sky and touched Merlin's raised hands. Miniature dragons fluttered around before growing into full sized ones that thundered off in a glory that blotted out the stars.

"It's beautiful," Arthur said.

Merlin turned to face him. "I think so." He frowned. "What are you doing out here? It's dangerous."

"After that show you just put on? There's nothing in a hundred mile radius that wants to touch this place."

"That's one of the reasons why I do it. I used to do it a lot more. It distracted me when . . . " He shook himself. "But you're back now. It's still dangerous out here, though. Not everything out here can be defeated with magic."

"Even yours?"

"Even mine. There's a reason I used to teach swordcraft and archery at the school." And that reason was nostalgia, Merlin admitted to himself, but some creatures' resistance to magic had been the excuse.

"You?" Arthur scoffed. Then he caught himself. "Sorry. Habit."

Merlin frowned. "Why do you keep doing that?"

"Doing what?"

"You know what. Just when I think things are getting back to normal, you start getting all . . . nice."

Arthur raises an eyebrow. "How heinous of me."

"I don't mind the niceness. It's what's behind it that worries me."

"Respect worries you?"

"Fear does."

"I'm not afraid of you."

"Really? Have you realized yet how rare that is now? You've seen what I can do. Summon dragons. Raise armies of the dead. Build a fortress in a night."

"Start a school, apparently."

Merlin smiled. "I can't wait to show it to you. I haven't gotten much right but that . . . That was worth it."

"Haven't gotten much right? Merlin, are you mad?"

"Stop changing the subject. The point is - "

"What about Nera? Your family?"

"That's what you're afraid of," Merlin said. "Part of it, anyway."

"Merlin, you're not making any sense."

"No, you're not. Look, I get it. You were gone for . . . For a long time. And I was still here. And you think I've moved on. You don't know how to act around me anymore."

Arthur sighed. "When we met, you were an annoying servant."

"Thank you."

"Shut up, Merlin. You became a friend. One of the only people I actually trusted. And I knew where I stood in the whole thing, but now - You're a teacher of a school for seers and sorcerers. You've set up fortresses all over Britain to fight the monsters. Today you took down a flock of wyverns in seconds, like it was nothing. The man I left was a brave, bumbling, idiotically loyal clot pole with occasional flashes of wisdom. Now you're a living legend. Somehow, 'dollophead' just doesn't roll off the tongue anymore."

"Hey, 'dollophead' is a time honored insult. I'll have you know it was used on the King of Camelot, Mr. Once and Future himself."

Arthur's lips twitched. "That's true."

"And if it helps, I'm still a bumbling, idiotically loyal clotpole."

"I never doubted that last part."


	43. Between

"No!" Merlin shouted, using magic to shove the bandit away from his father. Balinor finished him off quickly and looked up with a pride in his eyes that warmed Merlin in a way nothing ever had and that cut right through the choking guilt freeing the dragon had brought.

"Well done."

The warmth of the praise vanished almost instantly in the accusatory, jagged, " _Mer_ lin?"

He knew. Arthur knew. He had seen.

Merlin stumbled back, hands up, eyes pleading. "Arthur - "

"Shut up, you - you - "

Balinor had stepped between them, sword still out. "I would be very careful what word you use next, Pendragon."

Arthur glared at him. "This has nothing to do with you. Step aside."

"I watched your father slaughter by brothers. My father. My niece. My whole world. And you think I'm going to step aside and let you kill another one of my kind? You think this has _nothing to do with me_?"

Arthur slashed a hand through the air. "He's a sorcerer, not a dragon lord."

" _He's my son._ "

Into the devastated silence that followed, Balinor stalked forward. "So unless you want me to use my powers to egg the dragon on, I suggest you keep your mouth shut on things you know nothing about."

"He can't stay in Camelot," Arthur said, more quietly than before.

Merlin spoke up. "I can't leave it either. I'm supposed to protect you, Arthur."

"A sorcerer protecting me. Isn't that a bit of a conflict of interests?"

Balinor looked at Merlin, one eyebrow raised. He looked down, embarassed. "Kilgharrah said something about Emrys. I suppose he could have been lying."

His father's eyes widened before he started to laugh. "No, not about that. Emrys! Well, princeling, looks like you don't have a choice."

"Because a dragon said so?"

"Because Emrys is the most powerful being of magic to ever walk the earth. If he wants something, good luck stopping him."

Something crumpled in the back of Arthur's eyes. He didn't stop them when it was time to move on, but there was something missing.

Merlin dreamed of a dragon roaring out "Emrys!" The Druids stood behind him, hopeful hands reaching out to him. He reached for them eagerly, but behind him, a sound came that made him stop.

Arthur, broken, calling out, "Merlin?" like the plea was his last hope in the world.

And Merlin shattered into a thousand bloody, burning fragments, full of broken trusts and sorcerer's screams -

Only to feel his father's magic, hesitant and awkward, but warm with fierce pride and fiercer love reach out to calm him.

Only to feel a friend's hand shaking him awake, not caring what he was, only caring that he was safe.

He dreamed of Albion after that.

. . . . .

 **A/N: I feel like it would have been a stronger story if I'd stopped the story at "screams".**

 **However, I also felt like I would have been murdured in my bed, so I didn't. Aren't you glad?**


	44. Blue

Merlin's eyes are blue.

It's not something anyone thinks much of. They're a rather startling shade, but after the initial comments, people generally have better things to think about.

Freya was different. She asked him when she was dying and perhaps not thinking too clearly If they'd always been blue. They were pretty when they were gold, she murmured, but she always thought when the gold faded that she'd caught sight of another color, perhaps just another shade of the blue, but a prettier one.

Merlin was confused.

Of course he was. It was understandable. But the thought tugged at him, and he looked in the lake for a long moment, wondering.

They had, hadn't they? Always been blue?

He wanted to ask his mother, but she was a long ways away and had been so sad the last time he saw her, and there was no one else to ask. Gaius would assume he was sick and make him drink something nasty, and Arthur would laugh at him. He didn't want to bother Arthur with anything so trivial. Arthur was important. He would do anything for Arthur.

He wouldn't have really left with Freya of course. He was just calming her down, that was all.

That was what he told Arthur when he reported the story. Arthur looked at him for a long moment before telling him that he had let him down. He had kept things from him for too long.

He flinched, eyes down. Yes, he had been bad, disloyal, he could see that now. "I'm sorry, my lord," he whispered. "I'll do better, my lord, I promise." He looked up pleadingly.

Whatever Arthur saw there must have placated him. He patted Merlin on the shoulder. "How could I say no when you're looking at me like that? You're forgiven, Merlin."

All was right in his world again. He put Freya aside. She was irrelevant.

He got hit on the head on occasion, on patrols or questing. But Arthur was always there right away, making everything better, taking the pain and distractions away with that warm blue glow. Everything was always so confusing after those times, but Arthur made everything better.

Everyone asked him why he was so loyal. Cornelius and Morgause and all the other horrible people who tried to hurt Arthur. Everyone wondered. It was something pondered and dissected by his enemies, desperate to find away to pull Emrys away from his king. They never saw the answer, though it was right in front of them.

Merlin's eyes were blue.


	45. Real

**A/N: Yes, both of these are sort of Avengers crossovers. I claim no credit for the Tesseract.**

 **. . . . .**

He wondered, sometimes, if any of it was real. If he flung a goblet one day and hit Merlin on the head with it, would any of his loyalty, his friendship, his steadiness remain?

He needed something real. He'd thought he wanted respect, but that thought went out the window when he caught himself missing Merlin's old cries of dollophead and prat. He ordered Merlin never to call him 'my lord' again, but the boy just replaced it with other titles of honor without a single trace of sarcasm on his lips. In desperation, once, he'd ordered Merlin to insult him.

He had done so reluctantly, with horrified eyes.

Eyes like his mother's when she'd asked her son what was wrong. Eyes like when she had gone first to Gaius, then to Arthur, asking why her child's eye color, of all things, had changed. Had he been hit with some enemy sorcerer's spell? she asked Arthur.

(Had a spell gone wrong? she asked Gaius.)

It was better, Arthur said steadily, than the pyre.

(Wasn't it? he asked himself desperately. Wasn't it?)

Hunith had begged him to take it back, saying she'd take her son away, they'd never bother Camelot -

Arthur needed Merlin. Needed someone he could trust, absolutely. Needed a friend. Needed - something. Anything. Anything but a father that was never satisfied and always demanded more blood. Anything but a Court Physician too scared to put a toe out of line. Anything but Morgana, fake as glass jewels after her return. (Or had she already been lost? Lost when her maidservant screamed in the pyre? Lost when she stormed into Arthur's rooms, dragging a manservant with bright blue eyes who had told Arthur her secret the night he had spilled all of his own onto the floor of Arthur's room, who had no time to bring her flowers anymore. I won't tell, he promised her. You've killed him, she screeched back.) Something real.

Merlin had been real.

Once.

(Merlin was knocked into a wall. Arthur killed the last enemy and rushed over to him. His eyes were blue. Deep blue. Dangerous. Please, he begs. Please. And then his eyes lighten to the other blue, and he asks Arthur why he's crying, how can he help, how can he serve, and Arthur hates himself more than he's ever hated anything before.)

Morgana released the dragon. They set out to find Balinor. He turns out to be in Ealdor. Hunith's village.

My son, he whispers, pulling Merlin close.

He is weeping as he does so. Arthur doesn't realize why until he sees what is sticking out of Merlin's back.

Balinor doesn't let go. He's singing something softly, some old dragonlord lullaby, and Merlin's eyes are every color at once, but it doesn't matter, couldn't possibly matter, not when there's so much red.

Why? he asks desperately.

Because I owed him this much at least.

Father? Merlin asks weakly. And then, Arthur?

And then nothing at all.

Arthur used to wonder sometimes, if he stripped away the blue, if any of it would be real.


	46. Snake Eyes

If life was a game, it wouldn't be a simple one. It would be one where neither luck nor skill was quite enough and where the rules were written in a different language.

Merlin didn't worry about it as much as most people. After all, destiny had already decreed which markers they had to hit before it was game over, and if the dice weren't rolling his way, he'd just change them to sixes.

But somewhere in the middle of the game, destiny got bored and wandered off, and the board itself was so very old, somehow they wandered off the path and away from the markers and cut straight for the end. And there was a single square they had to hit to go back and try again, but Merlin was sure he could do it, because all they needed were two sixes, and the dice had never failed him yet.

But the old dice were gone, and the new ones weren't loaded, they didn't have to be because each side only had a single dot.

It doesn't matter how you make the dice land if the only possibility is snake eyes.


	47. Fix It For Me

"I hear you're the best. That you can do anything, _fix_ anything, for the right price."

Moriarty smiled, wide and crookedly mad. "Just make a wish, and all your dreams will come true."

"I need chaos. I need blood and desperation, greater than anything the country's ever seen, and I need it to last until I tell you to stop."

"How very interesting. And what's in it for me?"

He waved a hand. "Anything you like. You'll get it, so long as . . . shall we say, lures a certain someone out into the open."

"And who might that be?" He drew the word "who" out, letting linger on the air.

"A prat," Merlin said and turned and walked away.

 **A/N: Next up, an Avengers crossover!**


	48. Avengers: Vacation

**A/N: Sparky199 requested an Avengers/Merlin crossover, as did Aleja08 at the end of another one of my stories,** **Hunger Games: Fandom Style.** **Two ideas immediately presented themselves to me. Since Sparky199 has yet to send me his/her preference, I decided I'd probably just end up publishing both. This is the first one.**

 **Sources for this include frequent references to data I found by using the MCU and Marvel comic books wikias.**

 **. . . . .**

"Really?" Merlin demanded. "Really? The first time I come to America in a hundred years, and there's an alien invasion! _Really?_ "

Not for the first time, Merlin wondered what, exactly, he'd done to make the universe hate him so much. The fact that the universe had a little more life in it than previously thought didn't change that question.

Now giant metal centipede _things_ were flying overhead, the streets were quickly becoming as much of a battleground as the skies, and he'd just spilled his coffee. It had been six dollars. He hadn't even gotten to taste it.

Although judging by the amount of screaming that was probably the least of the city's problems at the moment, he couldn't help staring at his cup mournfully for a second. Screams were hardly anything new. By now he had over a millennium of them bouncing around in his head. He'd heard them, stopped them, occasionally caused them, or on increasingly rare occasions, created them himself. Screams were common. Vacations where he could forget _just for one moment_ who he was and what on earth he was doing still breathing and just pretend to be normal and smile at that nice girl and drink his coffee were not.

A blond haired blued eyed man - Merlin hated that combination, it always made his heart do stupid things in his chest as he turned to look, just to be _sure_ \- had jumped over the railing and was helping the other people in the cafe get out. He was wearing a spangly suit that might have been funny under other circumstances, and he looked vaguely familiar.

Hold up. Hand't he seen him in World War II?

Maybe. It was hard to say. As bad as it was scanning crowds normally, scanning crowds of soldiers during a World War in which England was getting bombed nightly was worse. He had been so sure . . . He'd felt sick when the war ended and there was still no Arthur. Sick because he'd have to wait even longer. Sick because if this hadn't been Albion's greatest need, than just how bad would things be when it _was?_

The aliens had definite potential for adding new nightmares in response to that question.

Merlin helped a woman around some rubble and guided her across the street, mind still occupied with the variables. What should he do? Just start blasting the centipedes? But they'd have to come down somewhere. What if they crushed someone?

Then he felt it and didn't understand how he hadn't before. Magic. Green pulsing magic tugging at strands of a blue power great enough to impress even him.

So the space stone was here. And so, he was surprised to realize was the mind stone.

Three of the Infinity Stones in one place. This should be interesting.

He dug hooks into the largest concentration of the green magic and disappeared in a gust of magic and wind.

. . . . .

He was in an apartment building of some sort, high in the air. One of those towers that were everywhere in this city then. The green one - Loki, he should have known - was there, as was a man he vaguely remembered glimpsing on the cover of various publications at newsstands before. It was Stark, wasn't it? The first name started with a T. Timothy? Tucker? No, Tony. That was it. Probably short for Anthony, come to think of it.

Merlin read the news frequently, but he tended to scan more for disasters than celebrity gossip. If Stark wasn't going to bring about Albion's time of greatest need, than Merlin didn't want to hear about it.

Loki, on the other hand, he'd met before, briefly, from the shadows. The other man was unlikely to recognize him.

Both men looked utterly surprised to see him.

Merlin glared at Loki. "Was this really one hundred percent necessary?" He stalked forward, waving his hands around. "I was supposed to be on vacation. I'm starting to think I should stop taking vacations in the interest of doing my part to further world peace. I mean, the time before this that I went on vacation, I ended up smack dab in the middle of a revolution, and then there was that time with the hurricane and the zombies, and the time before that there was the whole bubonic plague incident." He paused thoughtfully. "You know, maybe I should start taking vacations to London. Big ones that I'm really looking forward to. Think that might work?" he asked hopefully.

The two men were still staring at him. Loki raised his scepter.

Merlin raised a hand and blasted him back into the wall.

Loki sprang up, the scepter still glowing. "You shall not best me with your petty tricks, mortal."

Merlin raised an eyebrow. "There's much wrong with that sentence, I don't even know where to start." He shoved both hands forward, creating a vise of air that slowly started squeezing Loki into an ever smaller space. Loki struggled free and lunged forward, tapping the scepter on his chest.

Two infinity stones hit.

The mind stone.

And the time stone.

The time stone was a bright, golden color. The same color as Merlin's eyes when he used magic, funnily enough. Merlin, who didn't age properly.

The Old Religion had really pulled out all the stops when it was creating Emrys. And what better way to ensure his power than to embed him with a power created by the Cosmic Entities?

The scepter hit gold and bounced off at the same time that Merlin threw his mind at Loki's.

Loki had been through a lot. He really had.

But he had been designed for a long life with all that that entails. Merlin, for all his power, had needed a human mind, with all its strengths and frailties. Merlin had been given a long life, but not the mindset equipped to handle one.

Loki felt he had been dealt a bad hand.

Merlin snorted and told him to stop whining.

Loki was, in the words of Tony Stark, crazier than a bag full of cats.

Merlin was . . . Merlin was very, very lonely.

And his mind was far stronger than Loki's.

Loki collapsed weeping to the floor. Merlin turned to a gaping Tony. "He shoudn't give you any more trouble," he said tiredly. "I'll go . . . " he waved a hand at the general chaos still outside, "do something about that, I suppose." He glared at the pathetic huddle on the floor, but the effect was somewhat ruined by his yawn. "If he _had_ to lead an alien invasion, why couldn't he have at least done it in Albion? Even the prat would have woken up for this, no matter how much he likes his sleep."

For once, Tony Stark had absolutely nothing to say.


	49. Avengers: Prisoners

Hydra had yet to break James Buchanan Barnes after years of trying.

Some of that time had been expected, of course. But as the time dragged on, the higher ups started demanding answers.

Some blamed his military training.

They weren't wrong, per se, but they weren't really right either.

Some blamed his natural temperament.

They had a point.

Some blamed Steve Rogers.

They had a point too. His reaction to news of his friend's death certainly supported that theory.

No one blamed Prisoner #175643. Why would they? The two prisoners had glimpsed each other, no more than that. The two hadn't had any opportunities to talk.

In hindsight, they really should have remembered why they'd bothered capturing Prisoner #175643 in the first place and realized that just because they couldn't talk didn't mean they couldn't communicate.

Who would have guessed that Bucky Barnes had druid blood?

James Buchanan Barnes screamed.

In an airless, tiny chamber tubes drained a warlock's magic. To an observer's eyes, he looked weak. Beaten.

No one could have guessed that he was whispering in Barnes's mind.

 **You're name is James Buchanan Barnes. You are not alone. Steve would be proud of you.**

He is immortal so he cannot die, so they do not give him air. When Barnes survives another day as himself, he cannot cheer.

Merlin smiles instead.


	50. Hana

**A/N: AU where Freya comes earlier in the second season, marries Merlin after he breaks the curse, and then dies a little less than a year later.**

"Merlin."

"Yes, sire?" If Gwaine noticed anything odd in Merlin's voice, he'd dismiss it as annoyance or nervousness typical for the situation.

"Why is there a girl hiding in your wardrobe?"

Gwaine choked. That sounded like a question Arthur would have been asking him back when they were searching _his_ rooms for signs of sorcery.

Obviously, there hadn't been. Lock picks, yes. A few other marginally legal implements, maybe. Sorcery? Nah. Even Gwaine wasn't that stupid.

"Why do you think, Arthur?" Gwaine called up, chuckling.

"She has your eyes, Merlin," Arthur said in a deadly calm voice. "Why is there a three year old girl with your eyes hiding in your wardrobe?"

Gwaine choked.

It was only then he realized Merlin wasn't nervous.

He was terrified.

Merlin was already running into his room, something he must have been dying to do ever since Arthur, with the air of someone who was wasting their time and who knew it, came in to check for sorcery in order to reassure the populace after a recent burst of attacks. Gwaine followed close behind him.

Merlin had a kid? Why didn't he know Merlin had a kid? For that matter, why didn't he know Merlin had a girl. Granted, maybe he'd met her while Gwaine was still off traveling, but it seemed the kind of thing you'd mention.

Arthur had backed away from the wardrobe he'd flung open. His arms were crossed and his eyebrows were raised.

Merlin had edged himself between Arthur and the wardrobe. Two big blue eyes wide with fear peeped around him to study the scene. A faint whimpering was the only sound in the world.

And that was odd in and of itself. Shouldn't Merlin be picking her up to comfort her instead of standing in front of her like -

Like Arthur was a threat.

Gwaine's eyes narrowed.

"Merlin?" Arthur repeated. For the first time, Gwaine heard the desperation in Arthur's voice.

Arthur was afraid.

Arthur hadn't known.

But - But those two told each other everything.

Except that wasn't true, was it? Arthur told Merlin everything. Merlin . . . Merlin told Gaius everything.

Presumably. Probably.

Maybe.

Speaking of Gaius, Gwaine stuck his head out the door and caught the old man's attention. "Get Lancelot," he whispered tensely.

Because there was another secret Merlin kept that Gwaine knew of, and he only knew of it because he'd seen him at it the first time they'd met. He hadn't mentioned it, knowing it would probably give the poor man a heart attack to know someone else knew. But Lancelot knew, Gwaine was sure, and even if he didn't, he'd stand by Merlin. Merlin had magic.

And what were the odds that Merlin's two biggest secrets were entirely unrelated?

"Arthur . . . Look, she's plainly not evidence of sorcery. She's probably just one of the servant's kids."

Not actually a lie, Gwaine noted admiringly.

Unfortunately, for once the princess was actually paying attention. "I'm sure she is," Arthur said through gritted teeth. "Seeing as you're one of the servants."

Merlin winced. The whimpering got louder. Merlin reached a hand back, probably to stroke her ha"ir or something. "Arthur, you're scaring her. Can't we do this somewhere else?"

"Why? So you can distract me with something? Good grief, Merlin, why didn't you _tell_ me?"

"Because it's none of your business!"

Arthur recoiled. He looked . . . Hurt. Vulnerable.

He hadn't realized what Gwaine had. Arthur thought Merlin had erupted in a fit of anger.

Gwaine had seen the pained calculation in Merlin's eyes.

Merlin was still shouting. "When was I supposed to tell you, huh? Good servants don't talk about their personal lives, Arthur! So when should I have told you? When I found out Morgana was a traitor but couldn't tell you because Uther would have had me beheaded? When I was being accused of sorcery every other week and by law you were supposed to drag in my whole family?" Merlin swallowed. "When you already had the weight of the world on your shoulders and were you yelling at me for disappearing?"

Morgana would have killed the girl. Uther would have killed the girl. But the last one?

"It might have been a good excuse!" Arthur yelled back.

"Absolutely. All I had to do was say, 'Hey, Arthur, my wife just died, can I have some time off?' You'd have yelled at me for not telling you sooner, and I really didn't need that right then."

Arthur looked like he'd been struck. "Why didn't you tell me in the first place?" he demanded.

Pleaded.

Lancelot still wasn't here, and that was bad, because Gwaine suspected he knew the answer.

The whimpering had turned to sobs. "I be better, I be better, I pwomise, Daddy, I pwomise. I be good."

Merlin's heart was breaking if anyone cared to see. "Shh. It's not your fault, you're not in trouble. They're not going to take you sweetheart, I promise. They're not going to hurt you."

. . . And that confirmed Gwaine's suspicions and broke his heart all in one.

It also sparked the princess's brain cells. "Hang on," he said slowly. "I've never seen her before. Not ever. She can't have been hiding in your room this whole time."

Merlin's expression was not encouraging.

"She's been hiding in your room the whole time?" Gwaine exploded. "She's been in here _her entire life_?"

"She goes into Gaius's rooms too," Merlin said defensively. "When it's late."

 _When everyone else is asleep_ is what went unsaid.

"Why?" Arthur breathed. Then: "What happened to your wife, Merlin?"

Merlin closed his eyes. "Don't ask me that, Arthur. Please don't ask me that."

Lancelot finally arrived. He ran in, eyes desperate.

The door banged against the wall.

The three knights were sent flying against the wall.

The little girl's wide, panicked eyes were gold.

Arthur got to his feet. Too late, Merlin held up a hand, trying to pretend he was responsible, but they had seen. They had seen.

Gwaine had never felt so sick at being right.

"She has magic," Arthur said, his tone completely flat, giving nothing away.

"No," Merlin denied. "No, it wasn't her. Arthur, she's three, she couldn't possibly - "

"I _saw_ , Merlin."

When was the last time he had seen Merlin cry? _Had_ he ever seen Merlin cry?

Until now, of course.

"Arthur." Merlin choked on the word. The tears were streaming down his cheeks.

"You knew," Arthur realized. "That's why you didn't tell me."

"Her mother was a Druid," Merlin whispered. "I knew it was possible. Then, two years ago . . . "

"Two years."

"Arthur - "

"Don't call me that," Arthur whispered.

Merlin looked like Arthur had just signed his writ of execution. "Sire. _Please_."

Lancelot looked stricken.

"You know the law." Arthur's voice didn't sound like his own.

"You would - " Merlin stopped and tried again. "You would drown her for her parents?"

"You said - "

A light appeared in Merlin's hand. "You'll have to burn me too, sire"

The world could have ended, and no one in the room would have noticed.

Arthur scrubbed a hand down his face. "I - I can't."

" _Please_ ," Merlin begged.

Not because he couldn't fight their way clear, Gwaine realized, but because it would kill him to have to.

"That's not what I - What's her name?"

"Her - what?"

"Her name, _Mer_ lin, surely you gave her one."

"Hana," he managed. "We named her Hana."

"Can I see her?"

Merlin picked her up out of the wardrobe with trembling hands. He set her on the floor but kept his hands on her shoulders. "Shh, Hana," he soothed. "Remember the prat- I mean, the prince. The prince I told you about?"

"You said I wasn' supposed to talk to him. You said he was scawy."

Arthur flinched and knelt down to her eye level. "Hello, Hana. I promise I'll try not to be scary."

She peeked around Merlin carefully. "Daddy?" she questioned.

"It's alright," he said quietly. He glanced at Arthur quickly. "Right?"

Hana was moving towards Arthur tentatively. "Your hair's shiny," she said matter of factly. "I've never seen shiny hair before."

"No, I suppose you haven't," Arthur said quietly.

Hana glanced around the room. "Who are they?"

"Those are Gwaine and Lancelot. Lancelot's nice, but you're not allowed to spend time with Gwaine. He'll corrupt you."

"Hey!" Gwaine protested.

"Oh, it's okay," Hana said quickly. "I'm alweady co-co- thingie. The last time the gauwds came through, they said magic co-co-thingie. So I alweady am."

Merlin looked horrified.

Actually, all of them did.

Even Arthur.

"Just so you know," Gwaine whispered out of the corner of his mouth, "I'm on her side."

Arthur looked at not one but two sets of pleading blue eyes and sighed. "I think that makes all of us, Gwaine."

There were three very audible sighs of relief.

Hana had gotten distracted.

And Arthur's had been entirely internal, thank you very much.


	51. Perfectly Legitimate Reasons

**A/N: In which Merlin's excuses haven't gotten any better nor his predicaments any less ridiculous. Or: In Which Merlin Really Needs a Tan.**

"That's very offensive, you know!"

"Wh-what?"

"Just because I clawed my way out of a grave and happen to be rather pale does not mean I'm a vampire!"

"We - "

"And even if I had been that's no excuse for screaming and pointing like that! Do you have any idea how rude that is?"

"So you're - you're not a vampire?"

"No! I'm a warlock if you must know."

"Then why were you down there?"

"Perfectly legitimate reasons!"

"Oh. What?"

"Pardon?"

"What were your reasons?"

" . . . I can't actually remember."


	52. RoTG Crossover

He has only heard the spirit mentioned in passing. The people of the village blame him for the nipping winds, for the falling snow, for the frost on their windows. Jack Frost, they call him.

Merlin assumes he's real as a matter of course. Most legends have at least a grain of truth to them, and it's safer to be prepared. Not all magic is as friendly as it once was, and it wasn't always friendly to begin with. Some believe he betrayed them, failed them.

And, of course, they're right.

So when Merlin sees the boy dancing above the rooftops, his wave is hesitant. He expects to be rebuffed, to have to continue his weary, immortal, way alone.

He does not expect the shock on the boy's face. He does not expect him to come swooping down.

"You can see me?"

Merlin raises an eyebrow like Gaius once had. "Yes. Why? Were you trying out an invisibility charm?"

The boy laughs, delighted. "You can see me! No one else can see me!"

For the first time in a long time, Merlin smiles, not really knowing why, just reacting to the joy on the other's face.

The villagers think he's mad, of course, when he starts spending all his time seemingly talking to thin air, but then, they thought that away.

There is something wonderful in having a friend once more.


	53. 5 Ways Merlin Found Arthur: Agent

**A/N: Guest reviewer Hana: There will be another RoTG oneshot, but it won't be for another few days. It'll be part of this "Five Ways Merlin Found Arthur" arc. All of these are set in separate universes; they're completely separate scenarios.**

"I've told you before, and I'm telling you now; I didn't take orders from him, and I'm certainly not going to take orders from you."

The agent just smiled. "We have a new offer for you."

"I'm not interested."

The agent pushed a photo across the desk. It was a blurry surveillance shot, time stamped yesterday.

Merlin's jaw clenched. "Where is he?"

"One mission. Give me one mission, and I'll give you his coordinates. It won't take you long."

Merlin looked longingly at the picture, his first glimpse of Arthur in a hundred years. "Done."

"Good. We need you to kill her." The agent produced another photograph.

It was Morgana.

Merlin let his head fall against the desk. "You have got to be kidding me."


	54. 5 Ways Merlin Found Arthur: Company

The computers whirled with surveillance footage from all over the world. The young tech leaned back in her chair to take a sip of her coke. She'd been lucky to score this job. The division's budget was legendary. Rumor had it that the boss had never yet turned down a request for upgrades or new tech.

A small ding was accompanied by a bright red circle on one of the screens. Alarms started blaring. The intern choked on her drink.

"Boss! Mr. Merlin! We've found him! He's in London!"

She was _so_ getting a bonus for this.

. . . . .

 **A/N: My first true, exactly 100 words, drabble!**

 **On a completely unrelated note: I've started posting a multichapter Harry Potter fic called Undesirables if anyone's interested. If you're not, don't worry about it affecting this collection. The other one is completed and just has to be copy and pasted in, leaving me plenty of time to work on this arc.**

 **Speaking of, my plans for this fic are to try and get it up to 100 chapters and then call it complete although if something new hits me, I'll probably go ahead and add it in. I've still got a few ideas on back burner for things to post after this arc is complete, but I don't have nearly enough to get all the way to one hundred, so if you have any requests, please let me know.**


	55. 5 Ways Merlin Found Arthur: Kindergarten

Somehow, every time Merlin pictured finding Arthur, he'd pictured him either rising from the lake or finding him as a grown man.

He had not expected to meet a five year old Arthur at the clinic where he worked.

Obviously, he'd never seen Arthur at such a young age before, but one look at those eyes and there could be no doubt; this was Arthur.

Merlin did what anyone would do. He found out which expensive private school Arthur went to, quit his job at the clinic, and used a bit of magic to get hired as Arthur's kindergarten teacher.

One day in, faced with a horde of twenty screaming children, he thought he might have made a mistake.

A month in, when a lonely Arthur told his teacher about the dreams his father had dismissed and smiled like Merlin was the sun itself when he listened, Merlin knew it was the best idea he'd ever had.


	56. Five Ways Merlin Found Arthur: Jack

Jack was slowly getting used to more and more kids seeing him now, but he hadn't expected to be seen by an adult. Oh, he was sure Jamie, Sophie, and the gang would still see him as they got older, but that was because it was hard to deny the existence of someone you saw every Saturday and who had sort of accidentally maybe been responsible for that scar on your left hand you got during the infamous Loki-weasel-zucchini-Bunny incident.

Don't ask.

But growing up was still years away for the lot of them, so when the man's eyes landed on Jack, he figured the man was looking at something behind him. He did look vaguely familiar, but Jack didn't think much of it. He'd probably pranked the man a year or two back or something. He did that to so many of the far too serious, fresh out of college businessmen that he couldn't possibly remember them all perfectly.

Then the man's eyes had gotten very wide, and he was running across the street - it was a busy street too, he could have gotten hit - to grab Jack's ankle from where he was perched on the fence.

"Hey!" The yelp was more startled than indignant.

"You're real," he said wonderingly.

"That's what they tell me."

"I saw you. A minute ago. You were making frost on the houses."

Other people were giving the crazy man talking to nothing a wide berth. Jack was feeling a little uneasy himself although admittedly for different reasons. "I'm Jack Frost. It's my job."

"But it's _magic_! Isn't it?"

And that was . . . strange, not the words, but the way he said them. Like magic wasn't an impossibility but something he'd been desperately looking for, longing for like Jack had for visibility. Too desperate, too sharp, and the hand around his ankle suddenly too tight like he was afraid Jack would fly away,

Jack held on to his staff a little tighter. "Yes? Why do you care? How can you even see me?"

"He was real," the man muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. "They were real, they were all real." He slumped suddenly, his grip loosening. "And now they're gone." He stumbled away, fully letting go. "They're dead."

Jack's curiosity got the best of him. "Who's gone?"

He wasn't sure if the man was really answering him or just talking to himself, but he said the name's either way. "Gwen. Gwaine. _Merlin_ \- "

Jack leaped up. "Wait. Wait, did you say Merlin? Like the warlock Merlin?"

The man nodded tiredly. "I know, I know. It's just a legend." He laughed bitterly. "Even to you, apparently."

"No, I know him!"

The man froze. "What?"

Jack remembered where he'd seen him before. "He called up an image of you once for me. I can' trait to see his face when I tell him I found you - You are Arthur, right?"

The man nodded, desperate hope shining in his eyes. "He's still alive? Where is he?"

"England, of course. He's waiting on you." Jack laughed. "This is perfect!"

"I need to get on a plane. Be more specific. I need an address, come on - "

Arthur dragged his invisible friend to the airport and boarded the first plane to London. Jack chattered all the while.

. . . . .

 **A/N: Set in same 'verse as my first crossover for these two. Arthur was reborn, but instead of Ygraine dying in childbirth, both of his parents were killed in a car wreck. (Which may or may not have been an accident. Morguase was not available for comment.) Arthur was adopted by good people, but they were completely oblivious to what was really going on. He started having dreams about Camelot, but since he'd been separated from his birthplace, he didn't meet up with any of the others who were being reborn. He assumed he was either crazy or alone, neither option being particularly appealing. Fortunately, it's all good now.**


	57. 5 Ways Merlin Found Arthur: Bandits

**A/N: There's a poll up on my profile about what should come next in these stories. Please take the time to vote.**

 **This one is set in a world similar, but not identical, to "Avalon" and "Merlinpocalypse". There's been a magical apocalypse, society has regressed, and Merlin's set up fortresses to defend as many people as he can. In this one though, Arthur's been reborn.**

 **. . . . .**

The men were bandits, feral predators that had embraced the new chaos with entirely too much enthusiasm. They forced their prisoner to his knees before the dais Merlin stood on and sketched small bows themselves. Even predators will show respect to one they recognized as more dangerous than they.

The man's hands were tied behind him, and his head was covered with a sack. He'd resisted the bandits' efforts to force his deference, and been punished for it with a hand tightening on his shoulder that shoudn't have hurt but obviously had. Merlin suspected he was injured. Whipped, maybe, for an escape attempt.

"My lord," one of the bandits said with exaggerated respect, "we have come to collect the reward."

Merlin raised an eyebrow. "Which one? You obviously haven't brought me Morgana." He had plenty more he was looking for, but most of those he had made clear he wanted information on only and were not to be touched. He had the power to back it up.

With a pleased smile, Bandit #1 whipped the bag off the prisoner's head.

It was Arthur.

Blood caked the side of his face. He blinked in the sudden light before his eyes settled on Merlin. Judging by the look in them though, Merlin doubted he really saw him. He was obviously concussed.

"What is this?" he demanded in low hiss.

Bandit #2 blinked in confusion. "We heard rumors that the king of the fortress wanted him brought in -

Merlin slashed his hand through the air. All three men were thrown against the wall and held there. "And that was your mistake. I'm not the king of the fortress. I'm just holding it for _him_."

With infinite gentleness, he helped Arthur to his feet, using magic to snap the bonds. "I'm going to take him to be healed. When I get back . . . "

He smiled, tightening their invisible bonds. "Well, use your imaginations."


	58. Endings

**A/N: And . . . I made a stupid mistake. Okay, NOW the poll should be up. Hopefully. Sorry about that. I'll probably leave it up for about a week, then base what comes next on the results. In the meantime, I'll be posting whatever comes to mind, hopefully including another Avengers crossover, as per Sparky199's request.  
**

 **Speaking of, anthi35, you never did let me know if "Lady" satisfied your Freylin request or not. With that in mind, I'll try to think of something to add to this collection with that ship, but I find it hard to write for them. Pretty much anything has to be either resurrection or AU - Oh. Wait. What about . . . *Evil mutterings to self*.**

 **The thing I have in mind might take a while to type up, but it'll probably make an appearance sometime this week.**

 **Wolfdragon, thank you for the lovely review!**

 **. . . . .**

"Morgan Erlin" had reached the climactic battle in his trilogy on Arthurian legend. It was his first draft and handwritten; he was old fashioned that way.

 _Mordred raised his sword_ -

Merlin hesitated. He had to write this scene. He had to. His therapist had said writing down his traumas might help him, and although he doubted this was what she'd had in mind, she was probably right.

 _Mordred raised his sword -_

 _And suddenly realized what a jerk he was being. Morgana realized the same, and they all lived happily ever after._ The words flooded out in a hasty scrawl.

His editor was not impressed.


	59. Kinship

Headcanon: Merlin has loved Lord of the Rings ever since it was published. He's always felt a certain kinship with Sam.

 **A/N: So far in the poll, an extended "Camelot's Guards are Secretly Brilliant" is in the lead, with "Merlin and Destiny Having a Shouting Match" is in second. Be sure to vote!**


	60. Avengers: Rescue

**A/N: Post WS, pre AoU. Same continuity as "Prisoners", separate from "Vacation".**

 **It seemed to me in AoU that this wasn't the first time the Avengers had attacked a HYDRA base. Thus, this:**

. . . . .

The light is blinding. It's just a glimmer from a door suddenly cracked open, but to eyes left in darkness for decades, it's like looking straight into the sun.

With it comes air.

Air. He gulps it in greedily, chokes on it, coughs it up, lets it scrape against his parched throat. Grand, glorious air. His lungs hardly know what to do with it.

Someone is shouting. The sound hurts his ears, but he clings to it anyway. He hasn't heard anything in so long. Not since Lt. Barnes had finally broken.

The old failure makes him want to cry, but his body had long since run out of liquid for such luxuries.

He had run out of everything, really. Everything but the magic that kept him alive against all sanity or desire. It would have run out too if it didn't replenish so quickly. HYDRA had certainly tried to pump it out of him.

New pain flares along his arms as the tubes used for that purpose are ripped out. The magic starts pooling up in him again. The sudden rush of healing golden power leaves him gasping in relief.

The magic helps his eyes along too, clearing up his vision far sooner than should have been possible. There are far more important things for it to be fixing, but he needs to see who his rescuer is. Needs to because he has no idea how long he has been in there -

He cuts the thought off automatically, desperately squinting through the light. Please let it be him, please -

But the man is dark haired and wearing unfamiliar red armor that seems to be missing its helmet. He allows himself one last delusional hope that it might be Gwaine, or perhaps Lancelot, but he can't maintain the illusion for long. The man's brash voice, meant to be conveying reassurances, is most definitely not familiar.

Merlin shatters. He has been a prisoner for a very long time. Decades, even.

So what if Arthur had already returned? What if he had already died, come and gone and never realizing his friend languished in the dark?

How can he know? How can he be sure he hadn't missed him? It would fit with the joke destiny seems determined to make of his life.

He is shaking, he realizes distantly.

The dark-haired-man-who-was-not-a-knight is panicking. Someone else comes, a blonde man with broad shoulders who is nonetheless not Arthur. He makes up for this deficiency with a bottle of water he raises to Merlin's mouth.

Water. He wants to guzzle it, but the man is carefully regulating it to mere sips.

Even that is too much. The water hits his stomach, and it instantly rebells. The precious liquid comes straight back up, and Merlin starts sinking back into the dark. He panics, flailing with his magic, but the gold light is too weak, and his eyes shut.

He wakes up to beeping and tubes that make him think of HYDRA. He tries to rip them out.

The world goes black again.

There are people in his room whenever he wakes up. They talk to him, which is nice. Anything is better than the quiet that makes him think of loneliness and the dark. They tell him things are alright now.

He could have told them things hadn't been alright for over a thousand years.

He doesn't bother. Talking seems like too much work.

Still. Tony is funny, and so much like Gwaine that Merlin can pretend, sometimes, that they are one and the same. He is uncomfortable and angry, but he babbles out questions about Merlin's magic that though he doesn't answer, make him smile.

Thor is loud. He is loud, and he is bigger than Percival, and he knows a bit about magic, and he looks at Merlin strangely sometimes, as though he has forgotten that he is Merlin and not someone else who is scrawny and has dark hair, bright eyes, and more magic than is good for him.

Natasha sings to him in Russian, and the sound is so beautiful that he sends her a memory of a merry fire, singing, and snow from his trip there. It is not quite words, but it seems to please her despite this.

Clint is cheerful. He swings in from the ceiling vents at midnight when the nightmares have him gasping for air. He brings candy and snacks for himself, and when Merlin can eat and drink properly again, he shares, even smuggling in a thermos of hot chocolate. He regales him with tales of life in the tower most of the time, but once he quietly confesses that the reason that he's up is because he has nightmares too.

He likes the man's archaic weapon. It reminds him of home.

Bruce does not visit often which is a shame because Merlin likes the quiet, unassuming man. He worries a bit when he overhears two of the Avengers talking outside his room and learns that visiting him apparently makes the doctor angry.

Steve, always quick to realize when one of his men was troubled, guesses the problem soon enough and quickly explains the matter better. It isn't him, his weakness and poor company that makes the doctor angry; it is the scars from the experiments, the entrapment and exploiting by HYDRA that enrage him. It is not, Steve tells him, that Bruce is alone in this, only that things are a bit more dangerous when the good doctor loses his temper. He tells him of the Battle of New York, and Merlin nearly breaks his silence to ask if there have been any similar happenings in London. He wonders too if perhaps, when he is better, he could help Dr. Banner somehow.

He likes Steve. The soldier, like him, is a man still in his prime long after those he loves have turned grey and been buried. The captain understands what few can, though even he has his limits. He has found a new family in this new time, and he will grow old with them, most of them, at least, a luxury Merlin will not have. But Steve listens well, as odd as that thought seems to a warlock who will not - can not? - talk. Steve sees well might be a better phrase. He sees the pain and sees where he is and is not welcome. He does not press or demand. He just is.

Yes, Merlin likes Steve. But Steve is not the first one he talks to.

That honor goes to Lt. James Buchanan Barnes.

Barnes had talked about a Steve, Merlin knew, but there are a lot of Steves. He didn't make the connection until the night Clint was on a mission and Barnes appeared in his room.

 **You're alive!** he calls, delighted, mind to mind.

Barnes clutches his head like he's trying to shake the voices out, and Merlin cringes. That had been stupid of him.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes, voice straining over even this brief speech.

"You're real," Barnes says. He sounds surprised.

"Unfortunately."

Barnes nods in grim agreement and disappears.

He asks Steve about him in the morning, exercising his vocal cords once more. He assumes the soldier had found and started to help his old friend.

He sets off a new search. Merlin is not yet well enough to come, but he helps track him down. Steve leaves at once.

Merlin misses him, worries for him, but he wouldn't have dreamed of asking him not to go. He knows that look in Steve's eyes all too well.

He spends a lot of time on the iPad Tony gave him, studying the news he had missed. He is relieved by what he doesn't find. There has been nothing to summon Arthur yet. He has not missed his king's return.

He heals. That is what he says at least, and he can eat, walk, and talk, so they can't argue. Tony thinks it's a miracle he's still sane after all that time in the box.

Merlin thinks it's funny that they're assuming he was sane when he went in.

That thought is interrupted by someone who calls herself an enchantress breaking into the tower. She seems to know Thor.

Merlin presumes she's no one too powerful though, because it takes him about two seconds to demolish her.

They let him come with them to fights after that. He stays in the background as he once did in Camelot because he is afraid.

He is still afraid. Not of execution or rejection, but of friendships that will end too soon and leave him alone. He is afraid to care.

The others understand that feeling all too well. Natasha felt it. Bruce felt it. Thor felt it. Steve felt it. Clint felt it. Tony felt it. All for different reasons, but all feared.

They didn't let that stand in the way.

They don't normally fight in Europe, but needs must. They're in London now, and it's the worst fight Merlin has ever been in, and that's impressive in and of itself. Blood runs through the gutters like water after a heavy rain. The creatures are everywhere, clawing, biting, and dragging victims away.

Merlin can't see the others. He can't see anything except the foul bodies throwing themselves at him, biting into his face. His spells bounce off them, and for the first time since HYDRA captured him, Merlin fears the outcome of a battle. He can't die, but he can suffer. He knows that all too well, just like he knows how very, very vulnerable his companions - friends? - are.

He can't see anything but gold, useless, magic, red, sheeting blood, and grey, gnashing teeth.

Then he sees silver, a wide arc of it, as a sword slices through the beasts on top of him. He wipes his face so he can see what hero has chosen the weapon or what civilian has pulled out an old family relic.

He sees blonde. He sees blue. He sees broad shoulders and a bright red shirt.

He sees Arthur.

"Merlin! Merlin, are you all right?"

His arm is broken and his face is clawed half to shreds.

"I'm fine."

And he grins a big, dopey grin because he's telling the truth.


	61. Avengers: Worthy

**A/N: Works for either of my crossover 'verses. For once, not depressing. I still do not own Avengers. Or Merlin.**

. . . . .

Thor had asked where his hammer was. He'd stopped just summoning it after an incident about a month ago had led to Tony having to hire people to fix three walls, one of which was part of Natasha's room.

They'd all hid for a week.

So Thor had asked where his hammer was. Merlin, being the helpful person that he was, had turned to where it was in the coffee table behind him and handed it to him.

Now they were all staring at him. Merlin replayed the last few moments in his mind. What had he - oh.

"Oops?"


	62. High School Magical

**A/N: Did you know that in Scandinavian mythology, Freya is the goddess of love and the night? I looked her up in the dictionary when spellcheck didn't complain about her name. Considering her role in Merlin's story, I'm not sure this is a coincidence.**

 **Guest review replies:**

 **Wolfdragon: Thank you for lovely review and for the prompt! I'm not sure when it will be written - could be tomorrow, could be two weeks - because I want to come up with something more creative than "Sorcery!" yet I also want to keep him in character.**

 **Catherine10: Nope. Anyone can touch the hammer, but the problem is, that's all they can do. No amount of strength is enough to lift it; even the Hulk failed. Only the worthy can pick it up. Thus, the title: Merlin is worthy.**

 **Mersan123: Thank you for reviewing!**

 **And now, at long last, some freylin for anthi35:**

. . . . .

When Arthur had learned Merlin would be staying after school to tutor someone, he had been pleased. That was always Merlin's code for, "I've found someone else who has magic, and I want to be friends with them because last time most of them wanted to kill you, so I was alone, but it doesn't have to be that way this time."

Admittedly, most of that was subtext.

When Arthur saw it was that girl Merlin had been shooting shy smiles at for weeks, he had laughed and teased him about it mercilessly. He had thought the girl was vaguely familiar, but he hadn't mentioned that to Merlin. He had seen plenty of sorcerers in his past life, and it typically wasn't the sort of occurrence that ended happily for both parties.

It nagged at him, though, as he drove away from the school. The empty seat beside him seemed to mock him, and he swung by Hunith's house before he remembered he wasn't dropping Merlin off today.

The thought kept nagging at him as he did his homework. He found himself doodling instead of doing his math.

It took him a minute to realize he'd drawn a giant cat.

Arthur let out a very undignified yelp as he remembered where he'd seen that girl before. He glanced out the window as he grabbed his keys and bit back a growl. It was winter. The sun would be setting soon, and Merlin would be right there.

He ran out the door.

"Arthur, what - " his father called.

"Forgot something!" he yelled.

Yes, he'd forgotten that the pretty girl turned into a murderous beast at sunset. He'd forgotten how many men it had taken to bring her down.

The worst part was that Merlin wouldn't know. That had been one of the few magical attacks Merlin hadn't been right by his side for. He'd been distracted at the time. Arthur never had found out by what.

He pushed down on the accelerator a little harder. He was not losing that stupid, scrawny excuse for a warlock. Not like this. Not ever.

Finally, _finally_ , he pulled into the school parking lot, now almost empty, but the sun was already flirting with the horizon.

It was then he realized he hadn't thought to bring his gun.

There was no time to worry about that. He took off running.

Merlin typically did his lessons behind the gym. The school bordered the woods, so it was fairly private back there, and it was better if the students weren't making fireballs inside the English classrooms.

It was also a very long walk. Of course, Arthur wasn't walking, he was running, running like he hadn't since a life where people chasing you with pointy bits of metal was just another Tuesday.

 _Faster. Faster._

The sun set. Arthur skidded around the building.

Merlin had summoned tiny wisps of fire and shaped them into butterflies that danced around a fiery rose. The girl, eyes wide with wonder, was carefully shaping her own to add to the display.

Merlin looked up at the sound of footsteps, automatically defensive before he realized it was Arthur. Seeing the look on his face, he jumped to his feet immediately. "What's happened?"

"Bastet," Arthur gasped out.

Freya flinched. Merlin relaxed. "Oh. I was wondering if you'd remember that. Don't worry, the curse didn't come back with her. She's fine."

Arthur managed to get his breath back. He was a little indignant his panic had been for nothing. "How did you remember the curse? You weren't even involved last time."

"Er, about that . . . "


	63. Reaction

**A/N: Set in the first part of the season 4 finale in Ealdor. AU.**

 **Replies to guests:**

 **Mersan123: This time around, Merlin got his happy ending. He'd earned it. (Also, it would have hard for things to have gone worse.)**

 **Wolfdragon: That was a perfect explanation of Uther's thought processes. Be careful; you don't want to be accused of mind reading in Camelot . . . I'm glad you enjoyed the freylin!**

 **This afternoon I will be taking a trip to the Lonely Mountain. As I will be carried by the Eagles, I ought to be back by tomorrow, but it is entirely possible that fighting the orcs will leave me too tired to write.**

 **In other words, I'm going on a brief trip and may not have a post up tomorrow. Sorry. Hopefully you'll at least enjoy today's!**

. . . . .

It wasn't that Merlin hadn't trusted him that bothered Arthur; with the whole Agravaine incident still so fresh and still reaping consequences, it would have been rather hypocritical of him to think otherwise.

It was the fact that Merlin's first reaction to realizing Arthur had seen his eyes glow as he healed a sleeping Isolde had been to step in front of his mother.

The law, of course, said that they should both die. Arthur could understand why his friend would fear that his duty would overcome his concern for his friend.

But how could Merlin ever believe he would lay a hand on Hunith?

It might say something about Merlin and the paranoia he had to live with.

Arthur feared it said more about himself.


	64. Again

"Tell me the story again."

She smiled down at her son. "Again? I thought you didn't like that one. It always seems to bother you."

"Again," he insisted.

"All right. I was at a convenience store - "

"Buying Daddy a coffee because he was in a bad mood."

" - buying your father a coffee, yes. You know how stressful his job is, dear. I was waiting to pay for it and started chatting with the young man behind me. He seemed very excited to see me, and I was trying to remember if I knew him from somewhere, but I was too embarrassed to ask."

"And he had dark hair and sad eyes and was way too skinny."

She frowned. "I don't remember telling you he was too skinny before, but yes, he was. Just before I moved up to the counter, a man ran into the store, waving a gun around. He wanted money from the girl behind the counter. She gave it to him."

"Then the sirens started," he whispered.

His mother took a deep breath. "Right. They didn't have anything to do with us, but the man panicked. He shot the cashier, and he turned to shoot me. The next thing I knew, the shooter was up against the wall with a broken neck, and the nice young man who'd been talking to me was standing in front of me."

"He'd been shot."

Even years later, she teared up a bit. "Yes. Right in the stomach. He sort of collapsed then, and I knelt down beside him and tried to stop the bleeding. I knew you were supposed to put pressure on it. I remember I'd started panicking which was natural enough, but - and this was even stranger than what had happened to the shooter - he reached up and squeezed my wrist, and he was looking worried about me. I felt this kind of warm glow, and I swear his eyes looked gold. He told me I had to keep calm or I might hurt the baby. Only, the thing was, I hadn't even realized I was pregnant yet. I thought I couldn't be pregnant, ever. But he was so worried about it. I thought he was just confused." She wiped her eyes. "He passed before the ambulance could get there. I knew it was crazy, but I was so shaken up I bought a test, and, well - Eight months later, there you were. My beautiful baby boy. Things went bad for a minute, but that warm feeling hadn't ever really gone away and it sort of flared up and then it was gone, and I was fine." She tried to smile. "Remember, this is just between us. You know how much your father hates it when I tell this story."

Ygraine kissed her son's six year old head and pulled the blanket up around him. "Good night, Arthur."

Arthur stared up at the ceiling. "What was his name?"

She frowned. "That was another strange thing. His ID said his name was Arthur Thompson. That's why I wanted to name you Arthur, you know. I've told you this before. But . . . Well, when they looked at it, they realized the ID was fake. No one knows what his real name was."

Memories danced in Arthur's dreams that night.

Uther came home late. He peeked into his son's room and frowned.

Surely his son was too old to cry because of nightmares?

. . . . .

 **A/N: A couple of hobbits showed up to help me, so I managed to defeat the orcs with only minor wounds. Thus, I have a post after all!**

 **. . . Considering the direction this took, you might have preferred I hadn't.**

 **Still, thank you Wolfdragon for your well wishes.**

 **Last day to vote in the poll! After this, I start working my way down that list, unless a certain plot bunny goes rabid and refuses to wait. If that happens, I make no promises.**


	65. Fan (Part One)

**A/N: Consider these an apology for today's earlier post.**

. . . . .

The poster dominated a whole wall of the library. As part of a big fundraiser/community event, there was an all week festival going that included a huge chart that pitted various literary icons against each other.

Plenty of fans were getting into it, but the librarian had to admit she was surprised when a dark haired young man started doing a victory lap when Thranduil lost to Merlin in the final round.


	66. Fan (Part Two)

Arthur just rolled his eyes and dragged his friend out of there before he could embarrass himself too badly.

And no, he was _not_ just jealous because he'd lost to some detective in the final eight.


	67. Camelot's Guards Are Secretly Terrified

**A/N: And the winner is . . . Another look at the universe of "Camelot's Guards are Secetly Brilliant"! *Wild applause*. I have decided to leave the poll up but to remove and add options as necessary. As I understand it, you can change your vote at any time, so if you voted for this one, you're now free to go and vote for your next favorite. Thank you all for voting!**

 **Set in between S2 and S3.**

. . . . .

 _Idiot. That thrice cursed, murderous idiot!_

Which was not, as a rule, what one ought to be thinking about one's king, particularly if said king was a tyrant who took treason like that rather seriously.

In the captain of the guards' defense, however, the king was in fact being an idiot. In Uther's defense, for once his idiocy was born of an understandable ignorance of all the facts. The captain uncharitably decided it wasn't much of defense because if Uther had possessed all of the facts, he would have acted like even more of an idiot.

None of which changed the fact that they were all about to die. Probably painfully.

"I ain't doin' it!"

"It's your _job_ to do it! It's what we pay you for!" the captain shouted.

The guard typically tasked with floggings, brandings, and other forms of more physical punishment shook his head stubbornly.

"You don't have a choice!"

The guard's eyes darted around nervously. "Then - Then I quit! I do! I quit. I saw what he did to that gargoyle last year! I ain't gonna explode if I can help it. I'll go make barrels with my brother. Sorry, sir."

The captain glared after the man as he walked off before sighing and admitting that while the guard's reaction had been unfortunate, it could not be said to be unexpected. Flogging a servant was a pleasant task only for the sadistic, and the captain didn't hire sadists. Flogging a friendly servant whom you personally had a lot of respect for and who had gotten his job by saving the prince's life was cruel on both parties.

Flogging _Merlin Emrys_ , the man who had single handedly brought down Cornelius Sigan, a dragon, and was suspected to have killed Nimueh . . . That was downright suicidal.

The captain ran a hand through his hair. Worst case scenario, Merlin decided enough was enough, committed regicide, blew up Camelot, and went to join Morgause.

Best case scenario, Merlin decided to commit regicide quietly, escape the whipping in the confusion, and Prince Arthur could take the crown.

The most likely scenario was that he would have to perform the flogging himself to spare his men, Merlin would give him a tight smile and a line about "duty" later, and the warlock would slide one step closer to giving up on the lot of them and leaving them to their fate the next time a monster or magician showed up.

Around that point, his brain processed the best case scenario enough to realize that it contained regicide, something that as captain of the guard he was employed to prevent.

He dropped his head into his hands.

Maybe if every whip he could find was accidentally and totally destroyed . . . ?

He groaned. Why did the king want Merlin flogged to begin with? Sure, the boy was a bit cheeky, but all things considered, he was downright humble.

He was about to go with the "sudden and totally unpreventable destruction" idea - or maybe he should blame mice, that sounded better - as stupid as it was, simply for lack of a better idea when salvation came.

The warning bells were tolling. A guard ran up to him. "Sir! Something's attacking! It's spewing fire all over the lower town!"

The captain sighed in relief. "The men guarding Merlin know what to do, right?"

"Thomas is a new recruit, sir, but Marcus is an old hat. He'll explain things to the boy."

"Things" being get out of Merlin's way and let him do his job.

"Excellent. I need to go organize the men. Listen, you know that shed across the courtyard? The one where we keep the whips? It occurred to me that it would be a shame if this latest attack ended with it on fire . . . There's some flint on the second shelf, by the way, in case you don't have any on you."

. . . . .

 **A/N: Arthur was as opposed to the idea as the guards were, but the captain wasn't in a position to observe his efforts.**


	68. In Which Merlin Vents His Frustrations

**A/N: Or, In Which Merlin and Destiny Get in a Shouting Match**

. . . . .

"You can't just ignore me!"

"I can if that's what you've got planned for Arthur's second life!"

"Er, do I get a vote in this?" Arthur asked.

"No! What made you think it was a good idea anyways?"

Destiny mumbled something.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU THINK I'M CUTE WHEN I CRY?!"


	69. Arthurs and Alternate Realities

A/N: Remember "Mordreds and Multiverses"? Similar concept, but the two stories aren't part of the same continuity. This time it's Arthur popping from reality to reality.

Multiverses will be a running theme for a while if I stick to the poll. This is in response to the "Resurrected Arthur" option; the true "Mordreds and Multiverses" continuation should be soon which brings me to my next point: Multiverses is currently tied with Dark!Merlin or was last time I checked. If the tie remains unbroken, I'll just post in whatever order suits me at the time.

Fair warning: Mordreds and Multiverses was mostly crack. This one is . . . Less so. Much less so.

. . . . .

There was no magical portal that carried him from one reality to the next which was probably for the best, really. Giant magical portals tended to cause panic more often than not.

Instead, he would die. Simple as that.

Except when people spoke of going "on", he figured they didn't normally mean going on to wake up at your coronation ceremony.

That was how it would go. He would become king. Sooner or later, he would die. When he did, he'd find himself in another world, the crown just placed upon his head.

There were exceptions, of course. Depending on what exactly was going on in Camelot, the coronation might be a lot less formal than that, but the point was, he would "wake up" once he was king.

His life didn't actually start at the coronation. He had a childhood, a past, but he wouldn't remember his previous lives until he was king which was just as well. A two year old had no business dreaming of dying at Camlann.

It was always Camlann. In all three hundred seventy-five versions of Camelot he'd ruled, it was always Camlann. Somewhere in the middle, when he'd started to wonder if he was going a bit mad from the futility of it all, he'd seriously considered banning the name from the English language. It had come closer to passing into law than he'd later want to admit. It was usually Merlin's job to talk him out of ideas like that, but since in that reality Merlin had been a prophet, Merlin had actually been in favor of the law.

In that reality Merlin had been . . . That was how Arthur always thought of it. For everyone else it was "that reality's Guinevere", "that reality's Uther", "that reality's Camelot." They truly were different people, different places. It had nothing to do with whether Gwen was Celt or maid or princess, blonde and pale or dark of skin and hair, and everything to do with the way in one world she had about as many brains as a mayfly and in the next she could probably compose a treaty in her sleep. It had to do with the way in one world Lancelot all but worshipped honor and the next he used it only as a fancy wrapping to hide his deeds. Some things he could put down to how the world has shaped them but . . . It wasn't just their circumstances that had changed. It was their very souls.

Merlin, on the other hand, was different. No matter what changed - his appearance, his age relative to Arthur's, his powers, his heritage, his past - it was always the same wise idiot grinning at him behind those blue eyes. Arthur was convinced of it. Sometimes his innate goodness was buried deeper than others, but it was always there. Merlin, it seemed, was a universal constant.

Then something changed. He stopped waking up in Camelot.

He started waking up in England instead.

It wasn't always called England, mind, but it was how he always thought of it. Camelot was the old. England was the new.

Except England was sort of the old too. More often than not his friends - and sometimes his enemies, more's the pity - were there too. He was the Once and Future King, so for every Camelot he'd lived through, there had to be a future.

Sometimes he was reborn. Sometimes he rose from the lake. Sometimes the others came back too. Sometimes he would be met only by Merlin.

There had been one time that Merlin hadn't been there. There had, however, been a rather nice memorial.

Arthur didn't like thinking about that life.

The point was, Merlin was still a universal constant. Now, though, there were more variables. And sometimes that caused . . . problems.

If Merlin had spent his wait dozing in a tree or cave somewhere, Arthur had a lifetime to tease him about it. If Merlin had died with the rest of them and was reborn into the new life, Arthur had a lifetime to marvel at how little time it took for Merlin to find him. (Arthur's favorite was the time Merlin had found him by waking up, convinced someone to give him their plane ticket to London, took three lefts, hailed a taxi, and knocked on the door of his apartment building because he'd "had a good feeling about it".)

If.

Sometimes Merlin waited for thousands of years, perfectly aware.

Sometimes he dealt with it.

Other times . . . Not so much.

Arthur had been called back from the dead to deal with dragons, zombies, wars, plagues, tyrants, and horrors of every other sort imaginable.

None of them compared to the time he'd been called back to deal with Merlin.

He'd spent every lifetime since trying to make up for that one.

There had been a second time he'd been called back to deal with Merlin. That time he decided "rehabilitating" counted as "dealing with".

Wherever he went between times he never remembered, but Arthur had the distinct impression that someone had not been happy with him for going off script. He got the even more distinct impression that he had paid for it.

He did not get the impression that it hadn't been worth it.

That had been last life, actually. He was starting to wonder if this one was part of his punishment.

He hated this one.

Oppressive government, fine, he could deal. It was better than another zombie apocalypse. Those were fun until his friends started getting zombified. Seeing Guinevere like that had nearly killed him.

Seeing Merlin like that had also nearly killed him, but in that case it was in a much more literal sense as apparently being a zombie didn't stop him from being the most powerful warlock in existence.

That had been messy.

Focus. Right.

This particular reality liked its dystopia paranoid, secretive, and slave holding. Not that the enslaved were human, oh, no, of course not. They were the Soulless.

They were sorcerers, in other words.

Arthur had been reborn this time. When he'd recovered his memories, he'd excused himself from the government briefing he was leading and thrown up in the hall.

That was the downside of only regaining his memories in his twenties. That left plenty of time before then for him to do things he would regret forever.

Like getting hired by the government to hunt down rogue sorcerers.

Like being so good at it that he would probably be head of his division within the next five years.

And now every time he had to repeat the lies the words tasted like bile on his tongue and burned his throat like dragon fire. He could almost see Merlin glaring at him. Or worse, giving him that look. The kicked puppy I-know-you'll-hate-me-for-my-magic-but-I'm-going-to-use-it-to-save-you-anyway look. The you-left-me-alone-for-a-thousand-years look.

Arthur hated that look.

He'd thought the worst part of it was still having to do his job. Someone with a career as promising as his couldn't quit without getting asked questions that would lead to his arrest. He helped as many as he could, but at this point, taking a more public stand wouldn't gain anything but a bullet in his head. He'd have to plan, find the others, before he could do anything more.

It wasn't until he'd found Guinevere and she'd remembered that it hit him. Even then, it hit her first.

She'd dropped everything - understandable - and put her hands to her mouth, eyes wide in horror.

It was his Gwen, the first Gwen, so it bothered him even more than it usually did. "Guinevere?"

"Merlin!"

"You've see him?"

"No, Arthur, you don't understand. I don't know if you knew in our first life but - he's a sorcerer, Arthur."

"Warlock," he corrected automatically before it caught up with him.

Oh.

Oh.

He considered throwing up again.

"I'm sure he's free," he said, trying to convince himself. "I mean, he's powerful. He'll be part of the resistance. Knowing him, he's probably leading it up."

"You'll check though, won't you?" she pleaded. "I don't have access to the records like you do."

He didn't want to. He didn't want to consider it.

He checked. He didn't bother with names; most Soulless - how he hated that name - were given solely a number, and who knew what name Merlin'd been going by when - if - he was caught. He sketched a picture instead, something he'd grown proficient at, and scanned it into the database.

0003457.

Formerly known as Emrys.

He'd resisted in the Mage Wars.

They'd caught him two centuries ago.

Cut him open to see what made him tick.

But in this reality he was immortal. So he just came back.

Then they did it again.

And again.

And again.

"Reeducated" him.

Sent him on mission after mission until something went wrong and he was sent back to be retrained once more.

The picture of him showed him gaunt and pale. And his eyes . . .

Oh, Merlin.

Arthur didn't leave the office until he'd drafted a highly persuasive proposal explaining how the use of 0003457 could greatly increase his team's success rate.

For once, his nightmares were not of Camlann.

The proposal was approved.

He forced his expression to remain smooth as he waited at the transfer facility. It took more effort than he would have thought possible.

The door opened. A portly handler walked in.

Merlin was behind him.

Arthur could hardly breathe. The picture had been too kind. It had not picked up on the faint scars that decorated his face. It had not captured just how thin he was.

Of course, he thought bitterly. He's immortal. Why bother to waste the money to feed him?

And although he'd known it would be there, the sight of the collar around his neck still sent an unpleasant jolt through him.

The handler was talking, he realized belatedly.

"His papers, of course . . . Ah. And the shocker, can't forget that."

Arthur picked up the thing like it was a scorpion.

"You can dial it up or down with that knob," the man said helpfully. "You may need to use a bit more force than you're used to."

Arthur resisted the urge to strangle the man.

He risked a glance at Merlin while the man blathered on. He had to admire his friend's poker face. He was sure his own was slipping, despite his countless years of accumulated practice.

"Thank you, sir," he managed. "That will be all."

The man looked a bit put out but nodded and left. Arthur shut the door behind him rather firmly and turned around with a relieved smile. "Merlin."

His friend flinched a little at hearing his old name. "Sir?" he asked softly.

A terrible, cold dread settled over him. "Look at me," he ordered, fear making his voice rough.

Hesitantly, Merlin did so. "Is something wrong, sir?"

There was not a single spark of recognition in those defeated blue eyes.

. . . . .

 **A/N: I apologize for my lateness. The length conspired with real life to delay things, I'm afraid.**

 **I would also like to apologize for the chapter "5 Ways Merlin Found Arthur: Bandits". I accidentally used the word "kill" instead of "heal". I really need to get a beta . . .**

 **Oh. And I suppose I also apologize for the ending. I'm considering writing a follow up chapter. Any interest?**


	70. Arthur Will Come

**A/N: My best friend moved away today.**

 **I considered taking this out on the characters.**

 **Fortunately, I decided that wouldn't be fair to my lovely readers.**

 **Unfortunately, you can probably expect that to affect my writing for a while. A long while. Whether that means I'll be writing fluff to cheer myself up or fulfilling the old adage about misery and company, I don't know. Maybe a bit of both. Consider yourselves warned.**

 **Alright Sadness, that's enough from you. Happy thoughts, happy thoughts . . .**

. . . . . .

Arthur will come.

Camelot fell.

Arthur will come.

Merlin wandered through villages emptied by the Black Plague.

Arthur will come.

The world tore itself apart in wars.

Arthur will come.

Magic came back. The sky itself seemed to burn.

Arthur will come.

The wars grew worse.

Arthur _will_ come.

His people were being enslaved.

Arthur will be here _soon_.

They caught him.

He had to escape. He had to find Arthur. His king was looking for him. He knew it.

They cut him open.

Arthur, _please!_

He had scars now. Neat, precise grids of them instead of ragged, random ones. They hurt him.

"Arthur will come."

They hurt him some more.

Arthur.

Arthur!

Arthur?

ArthurArthurArthurArthurArthur.

It was meaningless now.

 _Wasn't I good enough?_

 _No_.

He locked Arthur away, deep inside him. It was the only way to survive.

. . . . . .

 **A/N: My brain and I need to have a chat about the definition of "happy thoughts". On the other hand, this was pretty cathartic.**

 **Don't kill me! There will be a sequel to the sequel. This just needed to be written, and it didn't fit with what's coming.**


	71. Coffees and Caring

"Arthur Pendragon."

"Sir?"

"My name. I wasn't sure if they'd told you."

He had hoped this might spark something. Instead, Merlin just hunched further in on himself.

Arthur couldn't find anything else to say for the rest of the ride home.

He slid the car into the driveway and turned it off. "You're officially assigned to me, so when we're not at work you'll be staying here."

"Yes, sir."

Arthur was beginning to hate that word.

Guinevere ran out onto the porch just as they reached it. "Merlin! Oh, I was so worried. Have you eaten yet? How are you?" The last few words came as she wrapped her arms around him.

Merlin just stood there, unresponsive. "Sir?" he pleaded softly.

"Gwen," Arthur said, swallowing hard. "He doesn't . . . "

Gwen stared at him, horrified. "No." She shook her head. "No."

"We'll fix it," Arthur promised her. Promised all of them. "Come on, you're right. He needs to eat."

"I'll be perfectly functional for a few more days without, sir."

"You're eating," Arthur said flatly. "You're eating three meals a day, and if I forget, you will remind me."

He ate. But he refused to remind Arthur whenever he forgot. Which, since Arthur wasn't used to having to order someone to eat, happened sometimes.

Arthur chose to look at it as a good sign. It was a defiance of orders and it annoyed him, so it was proof that Merlin was still in there somewhere, right?

It was the only good sign. Merlin wouldn't talk to him. Not really. Just "Yes, sir. No, sir. I'll check, sir."

Arthur bought a punching bag. He scrawled the word "sir" on it with a sharpie. It was better than taking out his frustrations by yelling at Merlin. The one and only time that had happened he had cut off rather abruptly and been consumed with guilt for the rest of the week.

He had cut off when he'd realized Merlin's eyes were firmly fixed on the controller for his collar. He was obliged to carry the thing around for appearance purposes, but just looking at the thing was enough to make him feel sick. The thought that Merlin was afraid he would actually _use_ it . . .

Arthur got his money's worth out of that punching bag.

People said the Soulless were incapable of feeling anything. Arthur could have told them that was horse manure even in his first life. If he'd needed any more recent proof, he could direct someone to his house.

Merlin felt uncomfortable. Guinevere had taken to bringing over large, home cooked dinners. She heaped as much food on his plate as she could get him to eat and waged war on his silences with determined conversation. Merlin didn't seem to know what to make of her.

Merlin felt surprise. When Arthur had led him to the guest bedroom and informed him it was his, he had dropped the bag of necessities Guinevere had given him and gaped at it.

Merlin had nightmares. Arthur had been up late working and had gone to check on Merlin before heading to bed. Once, he would have had an excuse, but he'd given up on pretending he didn't care several hundred lifetimes ago. Merlin was his friend, even if he didn't currently remember that fact.

Merlin had been locked in a nightmare, silent tears streaming down his cheeks. Arthur had shaken him awake. "Merlin. Merlin!"

He had jolted awake and immediately shrunk back. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you. It won't happen again, I'm sorry - "

"Easy, easy. You're fine." Arthur hesitated. He still wasn't any good at this kind of thing. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Merlin shook his head frantically.

But for one flicker of a second, he had thought Merlin had recognized him.

Coffee at the office had improved dramatically about a week after Merlin came. Arthur had assumed that someone had finally found the budget for the good stuff. Then he heard some people complaining about how the coffee now tasted like boiled troll snot.

Then he noticed that Merlin personally handed out coffee and that his eyes always glowed slightly when he did. Funnily enough, the people who referred to Merlin only by number were the ones who were complaining the most.

When Arthur's rivals started saying boiled troll snot would taste better than the coffee, he couldn't help feeling a sort of warm, cozy feeling curl up in his chest. Merlin liked him. He was making progress.

Also, it added proof to his theory that Merlin hadn't entirely lost his sense of humor.

Merlin's instincts were as good as they had ever been, so when he was asked to interview new job applicants, he had Merlin bring them coffee. If they turned green after one sip, he crossed them off the list.

Other parts of the job weren't as easy. Slowly, he was building up a team that he could trust to help him change things. He was able to sneak more and more sorcerers to safety.

It still wasn't fast enough.

Especially when they came face to face with Morgana.

Arthur woke up in the hospital.

Merlin wasn't there.

"Where is he?" he demanded. "Where's Merlin?"

The nurse looked a little startled. "He's at the holding center. No one was really sure what had happened, and the authorities weren't sure if he would need to be retrained or - "

Arthur was pretty sure he set a new record for fastest exit from the hospital after waking up. He was also pretty sure Guinevere was going to yell at him for ripping the IV out of his arm.

What had happened exactly?

They'd been on a routine check of a warehouse where there'd been a reported sighting of a rogue Soulless. Apparently, the report was more or less accurate. Morgana had been there.

Arthur wasn't sure if she remembered or not. She and Merlin had certainly seemed to share some history. Neither had been quite willing to kill the other.

He flicked the voice controls for his phone on. "Check database for all information on Morgana," he ordered.

Alias. Age. Power level according to the Avalon scale. Date of escape. Details of escape -

If Arthur had been drinking anything, he would have choked on it. Merlin had helped Morgana escape.

And . . . All three of them had survived their most recent encounter. In fact, Morgana had seemed almost . . . worried? Fond of him? She had talked to him a lot. Encouraging him to run, to fight, but more than that, she was -

She was flirting with him.

Arthur gagged. His formerly evil half sister, who his father had apparently turned over to the authorities at birth, was sweet on his amnesiac best friend.

Once, just once, couldn't he have a life that wasn't complicated?

He got a very strong feeling the answer to that one was _no_.

Arthur resisted the urge to beat his head against the steering wheel.

The next few hours were some of the most frustrating of his life. He had to fill out more forms than he could count, retelling the same events over and over again.

They had located Morgana. (They had literally bumped into one another as they rounded a corner.) They had attempted to negotiate. (Negotiate. That sounded good. Professional. Not very accurate, but very professional.) Morgana had temporarily gained the upper hand. (Morgana had managed confuse Merlin to the point of distraction and had used magic to shove Arthur against the wall with an invisible hand around his throat. Arthur had been convinced he was about to die.) Merlin had stepped in to defend him. (He assumed that was what had happened, seeing as he was still alive. He was a little blurry on the details. He thought he might have passed out.) Morgana had managed to escape. (At the very least, no one had found a body. He had checked.)

At long last, they let him retrieve Merlin from his cell.

Arthur's shoulders slumped. Merlin lay curled in on himself in the floor. Tears had escaped from eyes clenched tightly shut. He was rocking slightly.

"He'll come, he'll come, he'll come. He's all right, he's all right, he's all right. He'll come, he'll come, he'll come, he'll - "

Arthur was all too aware of the cameras recording everything. He forced back his instinct to rush to his friend's side and managed to retain the majority of his composure.

"Merlin."

Merlin stopped rocking. He didn't look up, though. "No. You're dead. You're not real. You're dead."

He forced a smile onto his face. "Make up your mind, will you? First I was all right, now I'm dead. Which is it?"

"They won't tell me," he whispered.

Arthur was going to enjoy tearing this government apart, piece by piece. "Well, I'm telling you now. Morgana's never yet managed to kill me." Not once, in any life. Her pawns had, her allies had, her enemies had in the rare lives they'd been on the same side, but Morgana never had. Arthur took a strange sort of comfort from that. "Now let's get you out of here, all right?"p

Merlin opened his eyes hesitantly. "You're here," he breathed out.

"Yeah. And technically I'm still supposed to be in the hospital, so let's go home, shall we?" He offered Merlin a hand.

He took it shakily. "You came," he said, disbelief dripping from his words.

"Of course I did."

"You came," he repeated. "I'm sorry."

"You gave me an excuse to leave the hospital early. What on earth are you sorry for?"

"I'm sorry you were there in the first place."

"As I remember it, you saved my life. Come on." The last thing he needed was for Merlin to say anything that would contradict his report. He managed to get him out into the parking lot without incident, at least.

"I let her escape," Merlin admitted in a whisper. He flinched a little as he said it.

"You didn't kiss her, did you?"

Merlin's expression was priceless. "What?"

Arthur threw open the car door. "Did you? Because I'm technically her older brother which means I've got a duty to give you a lecture if you kissed her."

"No!"

Arthur breathed out a sigh of relief. "Great. Because that would have been all kinds of awkward, considering. Especially since that lecture typically involves threats, and we both know you could blow my head off before I could even get my gun out of the holster." He paused. "Also, she has a tendency of trying to kill me, so . . . "

Merlin's eyes had gone very, very wide. "What?"

"Car, Merlin. Unless you really want to stand here all day. There we go." He started the car and backed out of the parking lot. "This wasn't the first time you'd let her go, was it? You helped her escape the first time."

Merlin looked straight ahead. "If I was capable of regretting that incident, I would."

Arthur smiled wryly. "Very nicely worded, Merlin. Not 'if I was capable of regret' but 'if I was capable of regretting freeing her'."

Merlin flinched, but he straightened quickly enough. "She wasn't going to kill you," he blurted out. "She just wanted a chance to talk to me in private."

"Oh?"

"She'd heard about what you do to - to help the others."

Arthur glanced at him sideways. "I wasn't aware you'd heard about that." Inside, he was rejoicing. This was the most Merlin had talked to him in this life.

"I'm not stupid," Merlin grumbled.

"Stupid? No. Reckless, yes. Dollopheaded, frequently - "

"That's my word."

A slow grin spread across Arthur's face. "Define it, then."

"In two words? King Arthur."

Arthur shot a glance at him, just to be sure. Merlin, his Merlin, through and through, grinned back.

Arthur let out an exhilarated laugh. "Welcome back, Merlin. Welcome back."

. . . . .

 **A/N: Merlin's been through a lot, so he's not "fixed" by a long shot. The process has been started though. Arthur finally came for him, and that let what had been buried claw its way to the surface.**


	72. Fault

Arhur was dead, killed by yet another witch determined to punish Uther for the death of her son.

Merlin annihilated her.

"Sorcerer!" Uther shouted. He always was more comfortable with rage than grief.

It was over. It was all over. Arthur was dead. He had punished the poor mother, but it wasn't her fault. Not really. It was his failure. His fault. His burden, and he couldn't carry it, he wouldn't -

"Sorcerer!"

Merlin turned his back on Arthur's corpse as he looked at Uther. It didn't have to be his fault, did it? It wasn't. He hadn't started this. Uther had. It was _his_ fault, all his.

A bit of fire danced in his hands.

He smiled. "Warlock, actually."

. . . . .

 **A/N: This is not a Multiverses story. Sorry. It was all I had. It does, however, fulfill my Dark!Merlin prompt and hopefully makes Wolfdragon, who requested Uther finding out about Merlin's magic, happy.**

 **Also, MegMarch1880, if you are who I think you are and you're reading this, turn on your PM function. We can send secret messages!**

 **Or I could email you. But this is more fun.**


	73. The More Things Change

**A Sequel to Mordreds and Multiverses:**

"You have _got_ to be kidding me."

And just when he thought he'd finally gotten used to this whole multiverse thing, too.

"It is your destiny, young warlock," Kilgharrah insisted.

"Oh, no, I got that, it's just . . . You're a cricket?"

. . . . .

 **A/N: Now I'm picturing Kilgharrah as Merlin's conscience, and that's actually a really scary thought because - Well. You know why.**

 **Or! For a better mental image! Cricket!Kilgharrah kept in a tiny gilded cage in Uther's throne room, and he's so proud: "Look. I have captured the last talking cricket. All the others were squashed in the Great Extermination." And Merlin's standing there thinking, "It's a cricket. Uther is proud because he caught a cricket."**


	74. Magic is Like a

Magic was going to be legalized. Obviously some things would need to be explained to the knights and the Council. Arthur had a speech planned.

By the time he got there, Gwaine already had one going.

"Magic," he said, "is like a Merlin. It's usually nonviolent unless you provoke it or someone it likes. And if that happens, mate, you're doomed, because when it get violent, it gets epically, castle destructively, violent. But most of the time it's just sort of goofy and nice, and maybe a bit secretive, but it's normally for your own good, and it's really protective and loyal, and I think we should respect that. And it's been hurt a lot, and its lost a lot which is something I think we need to make up for. Because look at those sad blue eyes, people, look at them!" Gwaine had grabbed a gaping Merlin by the shoulders and shoved him in front of the collected men.

Arthur coughed. "Despite the metaphor, we are here to talk about magic, not Merlin."

Gwaine looked confused. "What's the difference?"

Arthur opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. "Merlin's not an it," he pointed out finally.

"Okay, fine. But that's the only difference!"

It was easier not to argue with him.

. . . . .

 **A/N: Okay, so, plans for the future:**

 **There are two poll options that got no votes. I'm probably going to do them eventually despite this, but I've no clue when.**

 **Someone (I'm sorry, I can't remember who) requested an Alex Rider crossover. I am familiar with the series, but it's been ages since I've read it. A decent crossover would require a reread which . . . Maybe. We'll see.**

 **Right now I've managed to build up a handful of drabbles based on whatever struck my fancy.**

 **There you go.**

 **And I know "Magic is like a Merlin" is actually a simile, but I figured Arthur, being Arthur, wouldn't know the difference.**


	75. Where Are You?

Fewer and fewer sorcerers attacked over the years. Merlin never gave it much thought. He just assumed that once people saw Morgana might do the hard work for them, they'd either joined her or stepped back to watch. When he was feeling optimistic, he thought perhaps they were on his side.

Now Morgana was dead, and Gwen had legalized magic. He waited for weeks after the announcement for everyone to come out of hiding. He needed something the cheer him up. He was really looking forward to meeting magic users who weren't trying to kill him.

Gilli came back. Merlin greeted him enthusiastically.

Iseldir came. His clan was about the same size as it had been, but the faces were different. He said many had been lost, but that survivors from other clans and from Helva had joined them.

Merlin waited for the others.

And waited.

And waited.

Surely by now they realized it was no trick. Where were they?

Only the wind, freed at last from its burden of ash and smoke, and the dung heaps where the remains of all that was considered worthless were dumped, knew the answer.


	76. Miracle Max

**A/N: Wolfdragon: I was afraid it wouldn't be clear enough. No need to feel dumb :). Here's what's going on: Merlin's not seeing any sorcerers around. He comes up with a bunch of excuses - they're waiting to see if Morgana will succeed, they trust me, they're scared the new law is a trick - but none of them change the fact that only a handful show up. Eventually, he's forced to wonder why more haven't come. The answer is that there ARE no more. Uther's purge and the subsequent fights have killed all but the sorcerers listed in the story (and Gaius, but he's old enough that, well . . . ). Where are they? Dead. The wind knows, the garbage knows, but Merlin just can't accept it.**

 **I don't own The Princess Bride from which the first half of the dialogue and characters comes.**

. . . . .

"Have fun storming the castle, boys!" Merlin called.

"Think they've got a chance?" his wife asked.

He ran the odds in his head. He had seen enough by now that he was rarely wrong. "It would take a miracle." He thought back some more over his own adventures, and he cheered quickly. Miracles weren't nearly so rare as you'd think.

"Goodbye!"

He watched them walk away. It felt a little wrong not to go off storming it with them. Then again, being Miracle Max was the most fun he'd ever had.

He turned to the woman beside him. "I'm not a witch, I'm your wife?" he repeated. "Since when are those mutually exclusive concepts?"

She sniffed. "Oh, hush, you. You're no better. A BLT? Honestly?"

"Speaking of BLTs, I don't suppose - "

She whacked him.


	77. Hypothetically Speaking

"Hey, Gaius?"

"Hmm?"

"Purely hypothetically speaking, is there a spell for getting ectoplasm stains out of clothes?"

Arthur froze just outside the door, convinced himself he didn't just hear that, and decided to come back later.


	78. Telling

"For the last time, Gwaine, just because I'm immortal and he can't technically kill me does not mean that it's my job to tell Arthur when something like this happens!"

"When something like _what_ happens?"

"Princess!" Gwaine tried to smile.

Merlin was smarter.

He bolted.

He left the two inch tall, newly made into a centaur, Percival behind.

Arthur sighed. So it was going to be one of _those_ days.


	79. Every Time

"Stay here."

"But - "

"No buts, Merlin! Stay!"

"I'm not a dog," Merlin hollered after him.

"Of course not." Quieter, to himself: "You're my best friend."

And considering how quickly Merlin had died in his last life, there was no way he was letting him come on this mission.

. . . . .

The group got captured by bloodthirsty rebels. They were scheduled to be executed.

The knights were worried about being executed.

Arthur was worried because Merlin would never let him live it down.

They tried - and failed - to escape. They were led to the gallows. Arthur was first.

He mouthed along with the executioner as his head was forced down onto the block and a countdown was shouted out.

"Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six! Five! Four! Three! Two! One!"

Arthur considered pretending to be surprised when the executioner went up in a ball of fire, but really, it took far too much effort.

"Ostentatious much?" he yelled up at Merlin.

"Ooh, big word. Maybe I'll have to change my opinion of your mental capacity after all."

Arthur allowed himself one moment to hope.

"Nope, definitely a dollophead. _Every_ time! Every time you go somewhere without me - "

"Lecture later, Merlin!" Arthur ducked a wild swing from one of the rebels and jumped back from another. He really needed a weapon.

"What? Oh." Merlin flung out a hand. The rebels collapsed into an enchanted sleep. "Now. Where were we?"

Arthur groaned.

. . . . .

 **A/N: An Arthur and Alternate Realities fic.**


	80. Vivian

Vivian wasn't actually an idiot. Nor was she madly in love with Arthur, love potion or no love potion.

. . . To be brutally honest, she wasn't even a princess. She was, in fact, a high priestess of the Old Religion. She'd told Morgause she was planning on sneaking into Camelot and needed help. together, they'd managed to enchant everyone into temporarily believing the cover story they'd cooked up.

Morgause had been ready to sympathize when she'd returned. "Our next plan will go better," she assured her.

Vivian blinked at her. "Better? This one went perfectly."

"But - but I hadn't gotten word that the Pendragons were dead - "

"Of course not. I would never defy Emrys, much less the prophecies. I just wanted a piece of the legend."

Morgause gaped at her.

Vivian tilted her head. "I do feel bad for the boy, though. Arthur really should appreciate him more. Hmm." She brightened. "I"ll be out of the country for a year or two, dear. I need to gather ingredients for a poultice or two."

Morgause was still gaping at her as she rode away.

. . . . .

 **A/N: For those of you who've read Don't Give Up on Me, yes, Vivian is the sorceress in the story. For those of you who haven't: Shameless self promotion! Go read it!**

 **Or you can fit it in with canon and assume she died on her travels. I recommend the first option. Much less depressing.**

 **UPCOMING POSTS INFORMATION: There's about twenty left to go. There are three prompts from the poll I still need to fulfill since I'm not really satisfied with my response to the Dark!Merlin option. What I have is more Grieving!Merlin than Dark!Merlin. I've also received three prompts from Aaronna, and I've got two on paper waiting to be typed up. The rest are still up in the air. I don't know what the last one will be yet, but I want it to have a happy ending, and I want it to be special in some way. I don't want it to be just a random headcanon.**

 **King, third in my Emrys series, is in the "I need to stop lazing about and actually write the thing" stage of production. It will be out . . . before midwinter. Hopefully.**

 **I've started a new drabble collection called The Look if any of you are** **The Squire's Tales** **fans. If you're not, the books are by Gerald Morris, they're Arthurian legend, and they will make you laugh until you cry before breaking your heart into a billion tiny pieces and only halfway patching it up.**


	81. Big Deal

**An AU of S1. In response to Aaronna's prompt which will be listed at the bottom so as not to spoil things.**

"You're what?"

"Honestly, Arthur, I don't think you were this upset about the magic. What's the big deal?"

"The-the big deal?" Arthur sputtered. "Merlin - " He scrubbed a hand across his face. "Please tell me this is all some sort of elaborate joke."

Merlin was far too busy ranting to do any such thing. "You figure out that I used magic to help you in the cave, and you admit straight off that you don't know what to think. You find out I'm talking to the dragon under the castle, and the only thing that surprises you is that he can talk. My mother comes on one tiny visit to Camelot to tell me about my father for my coming of age - "

"Her visiting isn't the problem!"

"I'd figured that bit out for myself, funnily enough. If it's because he was a dragonlord, I really don't see how that's any worse than having magic."

"That's not the problem either. Although if my father ever finds out - "

Merlin shrugged. "He can only burn me once."

Arthur stared at him in sheer disbelief for a moment. "You have the self-preservation instincts of a lemming."

"Actually, lemmings aren't nearly as stupid as some people think - "

"Oh, so not like you then."

An apple went whizzing out of the fruit bowl and collided with the prince's head. Merlin hadn't touched it, naturally.

"Merlin!"

"What?" he asked innocently. "Really, what? I can't see you getting this worked up just because I didn't mention today was my birthday."

"It's not the date that bothers me, it's the year."

"There's no law against being fifteen, Arthur!"

No, Arthur had to admit, there wasn't. Nor was there a law against being fourteen, as Merlin apparently was only yesterday. There ought, however, to be a law against fourteen year old warlocks coming to Camelot and hearing the screams of sorcerers as they were burned. There ought to be something that prevented someone from being poisoned, stabbed, blasted with magic, dismissed as worth so little it was alright to let them die, or thrust into situations where they had to kill or be killed until they were at least . . . Well, Arthur didn't really have a good age in mind, but whatever it was, Merlin clearly hadn't made it there yet.

 _There ought to be a law against soldiers coming in and slaughtering Druid children too, shouldn't there?_ a little voice that sounded strangely like Morgana whispered.

But there wasn't. And he had stood by and watched them die –

He had helped Mordred though. That had to count for something, didn't it?

Something told him the dead wouldn't see it that way.

So many children had been caught in this war. Merlin certainly wasn't the first, and he wasn't even the worst off. He wasn't dead like the drowned children. He wasn't twisted like Edward had been.

He was scarred, though.

It was just different with Merlin somehow, perhaps because he knew him. He couldn't see Merlin as a number, or a necessary sacrifice, or even as a victim. He was just Merlin, and he was human and breakable, and Arthur understood all too well what it felt like to have too many responsibilities too young. Merlin had been told it was his destiny to protect Arthur, to save his people, to fight and be powerful, and he had been fourteen years old.

Merlin was starting to look a little concerned.

"The first time I killed a man," Arthur said quietly, "I was seventeen years old."

"Oh," Merlin said in a small voice. Almost apologetically he added, "I think I'm starting to lose count."

Arthur resisted the urge to throw something. He closed his eyes instead, hoping he didn't look as sick as he felt.

"I've got an aging spell if that would help."

"Not really, no."

"Sorry." A pause. "How old did you think I was?"

"Morgana said you were turning eighteen. I assumed she knew what she was talking about."

"That's a dangerous assumption to make with Pendragons. Even adopted ones."

Arthur was pretty sure he'd just been insulted, but he was finding it hard to care.

Merlin suddenly grinned. "Cheer up, Arthur. I'm still taller than you."

"You are not!"

"Am too!"

"I'm seven years older than you!"

"So I'm taller, and you'll go bald first."

Arthur threw a water pitcher at him. Merlin caught it with magic.

Guinevere let out a noise that was most definitely not "eep".

Arthur and Merlin spun to face her.

"Er - "

"Um - "

"I'll just . . . come back later. I mean, if that's all right with you, sire. I probably shouldn't have been here in the first place - "

Morgana's voice cut through the babble. "Of course you should be here, Gwen. What's the hold up?"

Then she saw the pitcher, still hanging in the air.

It hovered for a few more seconds before clanging down to the floor.

Merlin turned to Arthur. "If you end up having to arrest me, can you hold off the execution until I've opened my presents?"

. . . . .

 **A/N: Originally, Gwen was the voice of Arthur's conscience, but for season one, Morgana seemed to make more sense. Also, I found it deliciously ironic.**

 **Merlin will not be arrested, of course. I just couldn't resist ending it with that line.**

 **Throughout history, different cultures have picked different ages for when children officially become adults. Since Merlin is from the fictional country of Essetir, I felt fully justified in picking fifteen as the year when boys come of age there.**

 **The prompt: "Merlin was 14 years old when he met his destiny. The poor boy, everyone thinks he is at least three years older than he really is. Even the Lady Morgana thinks she is about the same age as him. How will everyone react when Hunith comes to Camelot for her son's 15** **th** **birthday?"**

 **Arthur isn't everyone, I know, but I do think he would have the most interesting reaction.**


	82. Inside Out

**I do not own Inside Out. For those who haven't watched: Gold equals joy, purple is fear, green is disgust, sadness is blue, and anger is red.**

. . . . .

Merlin's earliest core memories were gold tinged with purple. The first time he used magic intentionally - quickly followed by his mother's horrified gasp as she scooped him up and warned him how dangerous it was.

Magic Island was formed. It was an explosive festival haunted by bounty hunters and with trapdoors that opened onto bonfires.

His mother kissed his face after rubbing salve on the bruises he'd gotten from fighting the other boys. She gave him a handful of berries as reward for not using his magic and answered his questions about his father with nothing but a sad smile and teary eyes.

Family Island was formed. It wasn't quite complete, but it was strong.

Merlin saw his first execution. A vivid purple ball swirled with blue was added to his core memories. Anger didn't come till later.

Merlin met Arthur and the dragon in quick succession. Destiny Island was formed. It's shape and strength shifted quite a bit as the years passed.

Around him, other people's lives were shifting too. Gaius finally allowed someone other than fear to take the controls. Arthur formed Friendship Island for the first time, even if it was rather shaky. Then his and Gwen's relationship took off and Romance Island formed, glowing and golden, even if it was a bit purple around the edges.

Gwaine's Islands had stronger bonds than ever before. Friendship Island blossomed, and the rowdy Whatever-It-Takes-to-Forget Island slowly declined.

Magic Island appeared in Morgana in the flash of a candle flame and slowly grew until it consumed everything else. Family and Friendship grew shakier and shakier until they collapsed altogether. Sadness, Disgust, and Anger pushed Joy out and tried to ignore Fear with little success. Sadness was eventually banished as well. By the end, Anger had matured into Rage, and there wasn't room for anything else.

Uther, an unstable blend of Fear, Sadness, and Anger, could have sympathized.

Merlin, once well balanced, started shaking. Joy took the controls less and less frequently. Fear and Anger duked it out instead while Sadness quietly grew in the background.

Core memory added. Arthur is dead.

Does not compute.

Core memory added. Arthur is dead.

Destiny Island started shaking.

Sadness calmly took over the controls. Joy confined himself to a circle on the floor.

The bounty hunters and bonfires disappeared from Magic Island, but that didn't stop the festival from growing an edge of hysteria and desperation to its cheer.

Core memory added. Gwaine is dead.

Core memory added. Gaius is dead.

Core memory added. Hunith is dead.

Core memory added. Everyone I knew at Camelot is dead.

Camelot is dead. Destroyed. Gone.

Sadness put in an order for an upgrade to Despair.

Joy snuck out to the Dream Factory and demanded some good dreams before Merlin went mad. The upgrade to Despair was temporarily postponed. Everyone was relieved.

Two hundred years later, it showed up unasked for and was duly installed.

Two hundred years after that, Destiny Island lit up like a beacon.

Core memory added: Arthur is back. Guinevere is back. Everyone is back!

Despair gratefully handed the controls over to Joy and went to take a nice long nap.


	83. Hello, My Name is -

**Starts in S1, AU "The Moment of Truth", continues to S2 "The Last Dragonlord". Set in third person omniscient.**

"Balinor, mate! You're back!" A grinning blonde boy about Merlin's age clapped a hand on Merlin's back.

"Will." Merlin's answering grin was brighter than Arthur had seen it in a while, but that didn't make sense because Will hadn't been talking to him. He'd been talking to someone named Balinor.

Yet Merlin didn't seem to find it odd. "What did you call him?" he demanded.

Both of them jumped. They hadn't seen him.

"His name," Will said in defiant confusion.

"His name is Merlin, not whatever you just called him."

Will shot his friend a look that quickly hardened as some realization hit him. Merlin looked away awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. "Well, actually . . . "

"You lied about your name," Arthur said incredulously. "Why on earth would you lie about your name?"

Merlin's eyes snapped back to his. "It's my father's name."

"And, what, you don't get on?" Hunith had come alone to Camelot, Arthur remembered. What kind of man would send his wife on such a dangerous trip alone?

"Never had the chance to find out. I never met him."

"Oh."

Merlin could see the understanding flit across the prince's face, could probably quote word for word the assumptions he was making. They curled up inside him bitterly, but he plastered a smile on his face. Let Arthur think what he wanted if it would keep him from asking questions.

Will shot another glance at Merlin. Will understood all too well, and he championed his friend's cause as well as he always had. "So, Merlin, huh. I wonder where you could have _possibly_ come up with that name - "

"You promised you'd never bring that up again!" His outrage was faked. He knew what Will was doing. Then again, the story _was_ pretty embarrassing.

Arthur looked between the two of them. "What?"

Will began spilling the story out. Arthur listened as well as he could, catching words like "fake wings" and "trying to fly off the top of a pine tree". He kept getting distracted by Merlin's laughing efforts to stop his friend and the casual shoves and jibes between them. Merlin - and that wasn't even his real name, was it? - was comfortable here. He had a friendship that bordered on brotherhood, and Arthur was -

Not jealous. He was a prince. Princes didn't get jealous of peasant boys and manservants. Princes didn't wish that they could let go of their dignity and join in.

Of course, typically speaking, princes didn't travel to tiny villages in other kingdoms to protect them from raiders against the king's orders.

Arthur smiled politely when Will's story ended and told Merlin he needed him for whatever chore that had prompted him to come over in the first place. Merlin slipped out instead of Balinor, and he didn't miss the flash of relief in the other boy's eyes.

The name really bothered him, didn't it? A part of him that he normally refused to acknowledge set it firmly off limits for ordinary teasing.

Still, someday, if he was really angry . . .

. . . . .

"The dragon has escaped," the king announced. "It was seen flying over the city this morning. Although it has not attacked yet, it is surely only a matter of time."

Merlin really wished he'd had a chance to talk to Gaius and explain things. Maybe then the physician wouldn't have skillfully persuaded the king to send for the last dragonlord.

 _I should have told him,_ he berated himself. _I've had two years now. Why didn't I ever tell him?_

"One survived, Your Majesty. Balinor."

Merlin very determinedly did not look Arthur.

"Yes," Uther mused. "Arthur, you are to go hunt him down. He was last seen in Ealdor, but that was some eighteen years ago now. It will be a hard task."

 _Oh, look at that crack on the opposite wall. What a fascinating crack. I could look at that crack forever, and that way I would never have to -_

Arthur grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the room. The council must have been dismissed. He pulled him into a small hallway and shoved him against a wall before he finally let go and started wearing a hole in the floor.

"Please tell me that we are not about to go looking for your father."

"We're not about to go looking for my father."

Arthur looked at him suspiciously. Merlin reluctantly elaborated.

" . . . As that would be rather pointless, seeing as he's dead."

"Dead."

"Your father's men injured him when they raided Ealdor. He got away but . . . Mum did the best she could. He didn't last the night."

Arthur leaned against the wall for support. "I don't know what to say."

"That you're not going to kill me?"

Arthur blinked like the idea hadn't even occurred to him. "It's not like you're the one who's a dragonlord."

"Well . . . It's sort of might be hereditary." He let the last word out in a rush.

"You're a dragonlord."

"Yes."

" _You're_ a dragonlord."

"Would you stop saying that? I keep expecting your father to poke his head around the corner and chop mine off."

"That's why you changed your name."

"Give the man a prize!"

Arthur scrubbed a hand over his face. "So, can you get rid of the dragon?"

"I kind of maybe already did. And I might have . . . "

"Let it go in the first place?"

"He didn't hurt anyone!"

" _He?"_

"His name's Kilgharrah."

"You _named_ the dragon?"

"Arthur, dragons are sentient beings. His mother named him." He stopped suddenly. "That's actually a pretty scary thought. Can you imagine Kilgharrah having a mother? Do you think dragons tell bed time stories? Once upon a time, there was a small, evil, crunchy knight named Sir Dollophead. Sir Dollophead - "

"Merlin!"

"Shut up?"

"Unless you have an idea on what we're going to tell my father."

"We could tell him I bravely stabbed the dragon to death?"

"Something _believable_ , Merlin."

"We could tell him you bravely stabbed the dragon to death?"

"Better."

"Or, oh! We could knock him on the head, drag him outside, and tell him _he_ stabbed the dragon to death!"

"Merlin."

"Sorry."

. . . . .

 **A/N: Aaronna wanted a story where Merlin was only a nickname. Depending on how you look at it, if Emrys is his real name, Merlin** ** _is_** **a nickname, but I wanted to take a different path. Since pretty much the only thing "Merlin" can be short for is Merlinnus, I thought of this.**


	84. One is Broken, One is Bleeding

**A/N: "Arthurs and Alternate Realities" prequel. Dark!Merlin. Very, very, dark story as a whole actually.**

. . . . .

"You're not him."

"Merlin - "

"You're not HIM!" It is jagged, fractured, a howl of denial and pain and grief stricken rage. "Don't lie to me. You made a mistake. I know. You're good, though, I'll give you that. You almost had me believing for a minute."

He has lived hundreds of lives. Now that he is playing out their futures, he cannot always keep track of which reality each story belonged to. That it was Merlin made it harder. It was so easy to forget that he didn't remember his other selves.

He had forgotten. He will pay the price.

He can't move. The vines have wrapped around him like steel manacles.

"You made me hope. And then you took it away. You're a fake."

The broken man, the broken words, the lie that is a truth, hurt more than what comes next.

Which is quite an accomplishment because what comes next feels like ground glass is throbbing through his veins and bursting through his skin before cascading molten over him.

. . . . .

There was a prophecy. There always was. It was Destiny's version of mission instructions.

That was what he used to think. Before.

Before the mission where she had forced him to kill Merlin. Before the mission where he had saved the world but failed his friends, where they had been infected and gone mad, and he'd had to shoot them all.

It had gone against her plans, but she had been pleased. She said the new version was even better.

That's when he realized it wasn't a mission. It was a script, one Destiny cooed over in twisted delight.

. . . . .

He isn't sure how long it's been since he's seen the sun.

He's even less sure how he will fight with only one hand.

He doesn't hate Merlin. He hates someone he cannot remember but knows he will see when this life is done. He hates them for doing this to both of them.

Arthur is bound, and only Merlin has the key.

Merlin is imprisoned, and he's beginning to wonder if anyone will ever be able to free him.

The darkness torments them both, but Arthur refuses to let Merlin go. In a throat hoarse from screams, he picks up where he left off.

" . . . I've never seen you so happy as you were at the coronation. You placed the crown on me yourself, and you whispered jokes in my head whenever the ceremony got too tedious."

"Shut up! Shut up! You're not real, you're not him, you can't be him - "

For the first time it occurs to Arthur that even if he could convince Merlin now, the knowing would break him.

. . . . .

Arthur screamed himself hoarse at Destiny. They are not toys for her amusement.

She punished him, of course. She locked him away and made him wait.

"You'll be later than he was expecting," she told him, and he didn't have to ask who she meant. "He'll have gone mad. Dark. He'll have conquered the world to draw you in, but by the time you're there, he'll have faced too many impostors to believe you. You'll have to kill him again. I think I'll make the prophecy rhyme this time."

"He's just another problem for me to take care of?" he spat. "One that you created?"

"I always created them," she said in honest confusion. "It'd be no fun otherwise. Now, go. Take care of the problem. I adore the angst."

He clung to a single thought as he went to the new world.

He would not kill Merlin again.

. . . . .

He calls on the weight of thousands of years to distance himself from the pain, and he finds himself singing an old lullaby.

Merlin, in a soft voice that would have moved even Uther to tears, finishes it.

"My mother sang that to me." His eyes are stricken. "I sang it when - when - "

"When I was dying. Or every other week, in other words. You have a habit of pulling off miracles." The words are hard to force out through parched lips, but he manages.

Arthur. The word is soundless. Broken. Arthur. He stumbles forward.

The world goes a bit mad as Merlin's magic in some weird equivalent of babbling tries to fix everything at once. Somehow Arthur is free to catch Merlin when he nearly falls, and he desperately tries to hold him tight enough that he will not shatter.

How much can magic heal, especially so quickly?

He has two hands once more.

He has no qualms about hugging Merlin. He got over that phobia more lifetimes ago than he count. That he can shrug past the pain would surprise most but -

But he has felt worse, before.

But it feels less as if Merlin had done it and more as if it were something unavoidable. A disease. A spell.

But it is not as if Merlin had hurt Guinevere or one of the others, despite having had chances to. But he knows what he has suffered from Merlin is far worse than what Merlin, over many lifetimes, has suffered from him.

He knows his friend now, whatever form he wears, whatever scars obscure his gentle heart. He knows why his friend acted as he did, and he knows what his friend will be assuming now.

Merlin will expect, at best, a quick knife in the back, as if he were a mad dog to put down.

He will fear, at worst, that Arthur will walk away and tell him that he is not welcome in the future he waited so long for.

And Merlin will believe, whatever Arthur does, that the punishment is more merciful than just.

So when Arthur reluctantly, knowing what Merlin will think, begins to pull away, Merlin clings for a desperate second before forcing himself to step away. Merlin waits, destroyed, for his penance.

So Arthur says the first thing he can think of. "It's Thursday, isn't it?" He's not sure how he knows. It's been a while.

Merlin doesn't even question. "Yes." But there is a flicker of curiosity in his eyes.

Arthur interprets it as hope. "Excellent. Guinevere always makes pies on Thursdays. I hope she hasn't given up the habit." He grins. "She'll be so happy to see us, she may even make pecan ones."

Merlin's mouth drops. "What?"

 _Before I remembered who I was, I had you tortured for information in my twenty-third life. I killed the woman you loved at least three times. I killed your son. I killed you. I have dismissed you, forgotten you, and doubted you. You have endured so very, very much for me._

 _You forgive me everything. How can I do any less?_

No number of lives has taught him how to say that though. So instead he says, "Assuming a certain idiot warlock can get us back in time for supper, that is."

Merlin grabs his arm to teleport them, and Arthur pretends not to notice that the hand shakes.

. . . . .

"You defied me."

"You said to take care of the problem. Merlin was the problem. I took very good care of him."

"You were supposed to kill him!"

"I . . . killed the old, vengeful him. I rehabilitated the real him."

"Yes," she hissed. "And I think that you'll find that that was a mistake."

. . . . .

Arthur deals with the pain.

For a given value of "deals".

He deals less well with the visions she sends him of all the horrible things she could do to Guinevere. To Gwaine. To Lancelot. To his parents.

The last vision is not a could. It is what she has twisted a reality into becoming.

Arthur thinks it's a wonder he hasn't gone mad.

She shoves him out to meet the new world. Rebirth, this time.

. . . . .

"In conclusion, this new collar will allow us to regulate the Soulless much more - "

Soulless?

Something twists inside of him.

Arthur Pendragon remembers. He excuses himself, runs into the hall, falls to his knees, and throws up.

Then he remembers one other thing. He remembers his previous life.

And he remembers that he regrets something. He had made a mistake.

There was someone - he couldn't remember the name, only that it started with a D - that he bitterly regrets not punching in the face.


	85. What Tomorrow Brings

**A/N: I feel like I should credit the many writers before me who have graced us with glorious depictions of Merlin whapping people with a staff/cane.**

 **. . . . .**

Arthur doesn't spend too much time around his father's manservant. The man's nice enough, he's sure - an older man who knows the value of keeping his mouth shut but has the glint of unspoken words in his eyes - but there's never been much call for him to much more than glimpse the servant, and until recently servants weren't something he thought much about.

Now, with a kiss from Guinevere still lingering on his lips, and Merlin's odd words of wisdom echoing in his head, he probably spends more time thinking about servants than he does anyone else, but he's a better man for it, so he doesn't let it bother him much.

To his original thought though - He doesn't really know his father's manservant at all. He has, however, thought he would at least recognize the man. Which is why he frowns as a younger, red headed man brings his father another glass of water at the banquet.

His father catches the direction of his glance and explains the matter with a wave of his hand. "I had to let William go. He was getting too old."

"Too old?" The words sound a bit strange to his own ears, but his father doesn't seem to notice.

"His eyesight was going, he was getting unpardonably clumsy, and his mind had started wandering. I should have let him go sooner, really."

The conversation has already gone on too long for this topic, but he can't stop himself. "Go where?"

His father frowns, confused. "What?"

Arthur shrugs, making it casual. "What will he do? He won't get another job, surely."

The king just waves his hand again. "I gave him some money, of course. He'll be fine."

Will he? Arthur wonders. Does he have any family? How long will the money last? What if he gets sick? What if it's stolen?

Why does it matter?

He has a sudden vision of an elderly Merlin - he pictures him with a long white beard for some reason, he can't imagine why - fumbling more than usual with a breakfast tray, spilling food across his papers and struggling to clean it up. Struggling and squinting as he writes a speech for Arthur and one day forgetting to write it at all.

He shook the image off. He was older than Merlin. Far more likely was that Merlin, even at eighty, would be as cheerfully annoying as ever, refusing to shave off the beard no matter who told him to and whacking people with a cane he only pretended to need, and innocently saying, "What? I thought they were an assassin!" whenever Arthur tried to get him to stop. (And then Merlin would turn out to be right, and Arthur would refuse to outright say so, and Merlin would be singing "I told you so" at the top of his eighty year old lungs.) He can picture it now - Merlin using his age as an excuse to hide his clumsiness, feigning forgetfulness to get out of chores, and then making up for it all by reminding some poor sorcerer why "harmless old servants" were anything but.

If anything, he'll be the one to cause trouble. Madness runs in his family, he knows, and a small part of him even acknowledges that it might be beginning to take his father. He shoves the thought aside quickly, but he considers it for himself.

He can see other futures too, sadder ones, where Merlin makes excuses for the king and coaxes and tricks him into doing what needs to be done. Merlin gently reminding him that Guinevere is gone, married to some blacksmith in an outer village, and that his wife, some political necessity, is waiting for him in the dining hall. Merlin hiding from the world that the king is no longer fit to rule and bitterly cursing them when they find out and pass the crown to his son because in Merlin's eyes, he will always be fit, always be worthy, even if Arthur isn't sure why. Merlin, calling him "sire" regularly for the first time in his life, in a stubborn show of defiance and loyalty.

That's assuming they make it that far, of course. The world is not a safe place, not for knights and princes, and not for servants who insist on coming along . . . and insist on drinking poison and making deals with sorceresses trying to bargain their lives away. (Yes, Arthur knew about that. He'd overheard Merlin and Gaius talking about it once, shortly after. He'd confront Merlin about it someday when he thought he could do it without shouting. Not that Merlin didn't deserve to be shouted at, but knowing their luck, someone would overhear him, and Merlin would end up getting himself burned at the stake, and he had enough nightmares about Guinevere burning without adding Merlin to them too, thank you very much.)

Death wasn't the only fate that could await on a battlefield. One of them might be injured severely enough that they never fully recovered. Arthur honestly feared that for himself more than he feared death.

So. Lots of depressing futures possible.

But, despite his constant threats, there was one thing that was constant in all of them: Merlin was there.

Not fired. (Arthur is, contrary to popular belief, not actually that much of an idiot.)

Not somewhere quieter with a nice business and a family of his own. (Arthur is aware that this one is an actual possibility, and he has nothing against the idea of Merlin settling down with some nice girl or other. It's the idea of Merlin deciding that he has better things to do with his life than fight beside Arthur that bothers him, and, no, he will never, under any circumstances, say that out loud.)

Not executed. (Arthur has forgiven his father many things. If the king ever goes through on executing Guinevere, Merlin, or Gaius, though, that's going to change very, very fast. And although the son in him wants his father to live forever, the rest of him is very much looking forward to a day when someone will cry "Sorcery!" and point a finger at one of the few people he trusts, and he will get to raise an eyebrow and order the guards to arrest the accuser instead of the accused. A day when maybe he can finally stop jumping every time a trial is called to session and dreaming about a father that refuses to listen and a courtyard died with one more victim's blood.)

And in no future, no matter how clumsy or forgetful or nearsighted or flat out insane Merlin might become, can he imagine handing him a bag of coins and telling him to go.

That night, when Merlin's helping him change for bed, he asks him what he knows about William. Quite a lot, it turns out. Apparently the man has very decided political opinions and a dry wit that he'd stored up all day and unleashed on anyone willing to listen. Merlin is always willing to listen to anyone and had apparently struck up a friendship with the man.

"He's gone to live with his daughter," and Merlin happily chats on about the man's family although there is a sadness in his eyes. He seems to weigh Arthur for a moment before saying, "He used to have a son too, and two grandchildren, but they all died a few years back. At least, that's what most people say."

"And what really happened?" Arthur asks with a raised eyebrow.

Merlin glances at him sidelong. "Nothing. They probably are dead by now."

" _Mer_ lin."

" . . . There's a rumor that the youngest grandchild had magic. They might have gone to the druids." There is a challenge in Merlin's eyes, daring him to make something of this.

Arthur just nods. "Just a rumor, of course."

"Of course."

Arthur should be afraid, he knows. Afraid because Merlin lives with a former sorcerer who remembers too much about magic, and was friends with one back home, and has no qualms with dealing with the enemy to save Arthur's life. Afraid because Merlin sensed the power of the unicorn, and afraid because he was so quick to help the druid boy.

Instead he is afraid that his father might find out.

He hates magic. Of course he does.

It's just a lot easier to hate when Merlin's not around for some strange reason that Arthur has spent years not thinking about.

"Do you ever think about the future?" he asks instead.

Merlin's eyes shine with that odd light he sees whenever Merlin imparts his little scraps of wisdom. "Oh, yes. All the time."

. . . . . .

 **A/N: The plot feels a little rambley in this one, but I like it anyway. I leave it to you to decide if this is a "missing scene" type thing from season three and that Arthur's thoughts on the future are bitterly ironic, or if it's an AU where the prophecy was actually fulfilled.**


	86. Mourning and Meeting

He dreamed about them sometimes. Warrior queen Gwenhwyfar blending into vain Guanhumara into sweet Gwen. Lancelot dying a hundred different deaths, sometimes as he screamed, twice by Arthur's hand. Surreal visions of the nobility dismissing Gwaine arguing with the proud Prince Gawain of the Orkneys.

He grieved for them, all of them. Guanhumara had hidden more goodness than he'd first suspected behind her love for beautiful things. Morgana always managed to get at least one hook of regret into him. His knights, his allies, his advisors . . . Every incarnation had been different, and he mourned the loss of them all. Now that he was fulfilling the future part of his destiny, he had to say goodbye to them forever, at least in this - well, he was going to say life, but existence was probably the better term.

He didn't mourn for Merlin in the same way as he mourned for the others because he never really lost Merlin. He mourned his friend's memories instead and whatever peace or happiness he'd managed to find in his previous life. Merlin wasn't dead so much as he was amnesiac, at least from Arthur's point of view.

He had dreamed of Merlin in his last life last night. It had started off disastrously, but those last few decades . . . Those had been good. Merlin's joy at rescuing his people from the title of "Soulless", that delighted, mischievous grin that had become almost habitual for him, that he had worn in the moment before his death at the ripe old age of ninety-seven - That had been good. Merlin deserved happy years.

Right now that dream was providing a rather stark contrast to reality. Destiny was, apparently, determined to torture him.

"You want to _what_?" he demanded.

Dr. Mathers looked rather taken aback. "Dissect him. He's such a fine specimen. We might actually be able to discover the secret for eternal life - "

Agent Arthur Pendragon, pride of the agency, resisted the urge to shoot the man. "You are _not_ dissecting Merlin."

"But the director said - "

"Dr. Mathers, is the director currently standing here with a gun?"

The doctor gulped. "No, sir."

"Then that's settled then. Which room did you say he was in? Ah, that one. And the keys. Thank you."

He and Merlin really had to stop reuniting like this.

. . . . .

 **A/N: The two day wait was half my fault. The first day I was just lazy. The second day, though, the site wasn't letting me log in, so I had a legitimate reason!**

 **Gwen's alternate names come from Wikipedia and are actual variants from various legends.**

 **Jellyblobs, I loved the prompt and I may yet write it, but it just wasn't coming out quite right.**

 **Hopefully this will tide you over?**


	87. The Exceptions

**A/N: So a while back I read a story in which Merlin's tongue got cut out by slave traders. I'd give the name, but I don't remember it. It was an interesting story (and by interesting I mean heartbreaking) but there was one aspect that kind of interested me that the author never got around to exploring.**

 **How would Merlin explain his magic if he couldn't talk?**

 **Obviously Arthur could still find out, but how would Merlin justify it without verbalizing and without being able to communicate mind to mind since Arthur isn't a druid? Somehow scribbling out notes to shove at Arthur in between shouting and sword waving just isn't going to cut it.**

 **Which brings me to the point of this. If I wrote a oneshot dealing with the concept of Merlin having to deal with the reveal without talking but gave it a different context and backstory - completely separate it from the other story, in other words - is that considered all right? Or since the idea originally sprang from the other author's work, would I need to hunt him/her down and get permission? The lines on what's fanon and free to use and what each author can claim as theirs exclusively has always seemed a bit blurry to me, and I don't want to accidentally cross the line or step on anyone's toes. Your thoughts would be much appreciated.**

 **Aaronna, you've already seen this one. Sorry. I couldn't resist. I did tweak it some, though!**

 **. . . . .**

The people of Camelot had grown used to odd sights.

"GET OUT OF MY WAY! THE PRINCESS IS GOING TO KILL ME!"

Gwaine running through the lower town barely qualified anymore. It was, however, amusing, so they moved aside to get a better view.

The Mercian ambassador, newly arrived to the city, froze. "A princess? When did that happen?"

Arthur ran past in armor half dyed pink, growling up a storm and waving his sword.

The baker turned to him, amused. "Good question."

"Arthur, no!"

Merlin ran after Arthur. A flash of gold in his eyes sent Arthur stumbling just enough for the manservant to catch up with him.

"And when did you legalize magic?" the ambassador choked out.

"Oh, we didn't," the baker assured him. "That's just the Merlin Exception."

"The Merlin Exception?"

"There's also a Gwaine Exception to the laws against being a public nuisance, and a general Round Table Exception to the curfew."

 _"Why?"_

The baker blinked. "How's the country supposed to defend itself against Morgana if everyone who can stop her is in jail?"

There was a crash in the distance.

"And that?" the ambassador squeaked.

The baker considered telling him that Aithusa had probably escaped his room again.

Then he decided the ambassador really couldn't deal with baby dragons at the moment and said, "Probably a pheasant."

A louder crash.

"A big one."


	88. Santa

Dear Santa,

Please bring Mr. Arthur back for Christmas this year. I think it would make Mr. Merlin very happy. Mr. Merlin is very nice and doesn't deserve to be so sad all the time.

I have been very good all year and so has Mr. Merlin. I am also about to lose two teeth. Instead of bringing me money, maybe the tooth fairy can help you bring Mr. Arthur back. I've never met him, but he sounds really nice. I think you would like him.

Love, Constans

. . . . .

 **A/N: Constans . . . Why does that sound familiar? It couldn't possibly be because Constans was Arthur's grandfather in the legends . . .**

 **Not this Christmas, buddy. But he's coming.**

 **Thank you, by the way, to everyone who submitted their thoughts yesterday.**


	89. I Can't Explain

**A/N: Over 300 reviews! Y'all are awesome!**

 **Wolfdragon: I adore long reviews, so no fear of me judging you for one. Unfortunately, I ship Hunith and Balinor way too hard to ever have her ending up with someone else after he left her, so I'm probably not going to be able to end up writing your prompt. If you have any others, though, let me know. :)**

. . . . .

A lot of things had changed over the past few months.

Merlin had changed. That was Arthur's first thought. It was a perfectly natural thought. Anyone would have after Morgana had used that nathair snake on them so much, and it didn't help that the spell she'd put on him to keep him from crying out still hadn't worn off yet. So of course Merlin had changed. That was only natural.

But he was starting to wonder if maybe it wasn't just that Merlin had changed so much as that Arthur now was paying more attention to him. He had, in order to work out what he was trying to get across or to - alright, alright, he admitted it - make sure Merlin was all right.

Merlin couldn't babble anymore to redirect an awkward line of questioning. He couldn't pull off his strange excuses for his disappearances like he used to. And with Arthur scrutinizing him for signs that Morgana had permanently damaged him, he couldn't hide that look in his eyes like he used to.

Arthur noticed.

And then he noticed something else about Merlin's eyes. Like their tendency to turn gold.

Merlin opened his mouth to explain before remembering that he couldn't. He stepped backward, looking desperate.

Then his eyes widened, and he ran forward, diving between Arthur and the last, unnoticed bandit. The bandit's sword bit Merlin in the arm before the warlock sent him flying backward into a tree.

And Arthur had no idea how Merlin had come to have magic, or how long he'd been hiding it, or anything like that. But he did know that there wasn't an evil sorcerer alive who would have done what Merlin just had, and the look on Merlin's face was so much like the time that he'd accidentally dropped a pie on Uther's head at a banquet that Arthur couldn't help but laugh.

Merlin couldn't explain. But then, he didn't really need to.


	90. Forget

"Who are you?"

"T-Thomas, my lord."

"Where's Merlin? I want Merlin."

The queen froze before quickly forcing herself to put on the mask ruling required. "You may go, Thomas." The servant fled.

Mithian sat down beside the king and tentatively clasped one of his shaking hands.

"I need Merlin," he insisted. "Where is he?"

"He's not here, my lord."

That just seemed to agitate the king further. He frowned at her. "Gwen?"

"No," she said gently. "Mithian. Remember?"

He doesn't. She pulls herself away gently and and went to the door. An old knight, scarred and long since retired, was passing.

"Percival, tell the prince that his father is unwell today. He'll have to handle the petitions."

A nod. Mithian brushed back her graying hair and went inside.

Arthur had knocked over the water pitcher. The desk was soaked. "I need to tell him something. Need to tell him I'm sorry. I never told him."

She swallowed hard. "He know, my lord. He knows."


	91. Increments

**AN: 1hotpepper requested a companion fic to yesterday's piece. WARNINGS: Contains a lot of implied violence and some torture. It's probably not any worse than anything you've seen so far, but since at least one person seemed in need of some brain bleach after the scientist talked about wanting to dissect Merlin, I thought I should probably include this. If you think it'll be a problem, just skip the section where Arthur's thirty years old.**

. . . . .

Arthur is newly born. He is too young to understand why the whole castle is in an uproar and soon the whole kingdom will be. He doesn't know that Nimueh disappeared in a flash of light after Uther charged her with a spear, and he doesn't know that the family she didn't have time to take with her was slaughtered and that their blood is even now being scrubbed from the floor by terrified maids.

He is too young to form a lasting memory of the bearded man that holds and rocks him gently while the dragonlord's brothers, some in power and some in blood, talk to him in worried voices. He is too young to know why the wetnurse who makes the mobile above him spin without touching it bites her lip and flees when his father comes in and roars.

He is too young to know that his birth has started a war.

. . . . .

Arthur is five years old. He does not recognize the man in the courtyard with the dragon, but the man recognizes him and smiles. The man is weary and scarred but hopeful, because he could never help but believe the best of his old friend.

Someone hurries Arthur away, but he hears the roars of the dragon later and the screams.

He has become almost used to the screams. He has heard so many of them in his short life. He does not remember a time when executions were rare and pyres unheard of. He does not remember a time when the people in the lower town didn't eye their neighbors with nervous suspicion and anything reflective with guilt. He does not remember a time when the citadel was happy and a good deal more filled with people than it is now.

He does, however, remember the hideous wounds on the men who are brought back to Gaius for healing after they come back from the front lines of fighting for the Isle of the Blessed. He never thinks to wonder if Gaius has always looked so weary and defensive.

His father announces later that the war is all but won.

Arthur wonders if that means his father will have time for him now. He hopes it does.

. . . . .

Arthur is ten. He has started training with weapons, and he is determined to be good at it, the very best. He will make his father proud.

He is starting to learn to hide his emotions, his loneliness and desperate need for his father's love. It is not fitting for a man to show these things, he's told, and he wants to be a man.

His father has no time for children, but he speaks to his men.

It is better to be proud, he learns. He is the prince. The world is his for the taking.

But he dreams of screams sometimes, and he doesn't know why.

. . . . .

He is fifteen now, and he has made his father proud. He should feel better about this. He has destroyed a druid encampment, and his father is proud.

His father doesn't know how he froze up, though. His father didn't see the children -

But they were just magic users. They didn't matter. They weren't _real_ people.

He accepts the praise that comes his way and ignores the dreams.

Morgana is there now. He doesn't like her very much. She always gives him this _look_ , and it makes his nightmares worse.

. . . . .

Arthur is twenty, and he's not lonely at all, or uncertain. Everything is as it should be. He can take care of himself.

Merlin drags that house of cards down around his ears. He hates him for that at first.

Until he notices that Merlin makes the nightmares stop.

The boy encourages him when the doubts creeps in, distracts him when the memories haunt, directs him when he's forced to make another one of those decisions that will make either his conscience or his father yell. Somehow he always feels safer when he's with Merlin, and isn't that a stupid thought?

He stops trying to get rid of him after that, although his attempts to be nice, he suspects, fail. He's never really tried before, and he's not sure how to go about it.

But something's working. Even Guinevere - Well, suddenly he rather likes Guinevere, and she smiles at him sometimes. He likes that.

. . . . .

Arthur is twenty-five, and his house of cards hasn't fallen so much as the cards have been obliterated.

His father is dead. Morgana is his half-sister, and she's trying to kill him.

He has his uncle, at least. And Guinevere smiles at him and gives him strength he never knew he had. He doesn't care about making a political marriage anymore. Nothing could strengthen Camelot more than having her on the throne beside him, except perhaps destroying magic once and for all.

Strangely, that last thought brings the nightmares back with Merlin featuring prominently. He ignores them, like he always does, but he's harsher with Merlin than he should be because he's terrified suddenly that he's going to lose the few people he has left.

But he has the knights too, even if there aren't enough of them. Too many have fallen, to magic, to enemies. Too many have been lost like Lancelot. Still, the ones that remain are the best of the best, and all of them keep an eye on Merlin. What could happen?

. . . . .

Thirty is too young to have lost everything.

He sits beside Percival's bed as Gaius tends to the burns that cover the left half of his body. He holds the large knight's hand, but he isn't sure if he's clinging for Percival's sake or his own.

 _There is no child. It has been five years to the day since they were wed, and there is no child.  
_

 _Some have suggested he put Guinevere aside and take another wife, but in whispers they say other things. They say he was only conceived by magic, after all. They say another wife may not be able to bear him a son either._

 _He tells the "some" that talk of getting rid of the queen is treason, and the look in his eyes is enough like Uther's just before the Purge that they scurry back into their filthy shadows._

 _He goes to Gaius for the truth and doesn't like what he hears. Not because he learns he may never have an heir - alright, that's part of it - but also because Merlin had lied to him, and Morgause had told the truth._

 _He is angry, so he goes hunting, and he drags Merlin and the knights along with him. He is too busy being angry at Merlin to think clearly, so he doesn't sense the ambush until it's too late._

 _Leon is lucky. He is dead as soon as he hits the ground, his neck snapped._

 _Merlin falls too, but he is only unconscious, not dead._

 _Later Arthur would wish Merlin had died when he'd fallen. It would have been easier._

 _It was Morgana, of course, and she had help, enough to take them all captive. Enough to keep them captive as she woke his men up one by one._

 _Gwaine is first. He laughs when the cold water jolts his awake and asks her what he said about meeting like this and winks._

 _Perhaps that is why she took his tongue first. First his tongue and then his eyes. Infection takes him slowly and painfully._

 _Arthur begs her, first to leave him alone, then to help him as he slowly succumbs. To at least let_ him _go to the knight's aid and do what little he can._

 _She tells him he can have that favor only once, and is he sure he wants to use it so early in the game?_

 _If Arthur had thought there was the least chance they could be found and rescue in time, he would have said yes. But all his best men are here, so he weeps and curses her bitterly as Gwaine dies slowly, thrashing, in the dark, and alone._

 _Elyan is next, and for him she brings back what she calls an old friend, a small snake that has Elyan pulling at his chains the moment he sees it. Morgana laughs and Arthur thinks he has never hated her more._

 _He changes his mind rather quickly about that._

 _He doesn't know how long it takes for Elyan's heart to give out. He just knows that Morgana again offers him the choice, and he has to, this is Gwen's brother, but he can't, because he knows what's yet to come. He tells himself it doesn't matter, that Elyan is too far gone to notice whether he's there or not, but watching the blacksmith break shatters something in Arthur too._

 _This time, instead of cursing Morgana, he curses himself._

 _She is impatient when it comes to Percival. She burns him, but she doesn't seem to much care whether she's pushing him to his limits or not. It's plain she's looking forward to the finale, and she's never been good at waiting. He is still alive, still sane, when she casts him aside like a boring toy. She leaves him to die of infection in the cell next to Arthur's, and he prays that help will come in time to save him._

 _Percival is lost in a fevered delirium, and Arthur talks to him through the bars, desperately trying to get him to hold on. To hold on, but not to wake up, because Arthur knows what is coming, and there is no need for Percival to suffer through it too._

 _Arthur isn't sure why Morgana hates Merlin so much, but he has glimpsed the vicious malice she holds towards him when she has talked so lovingly of what is to come. There is a reason Arthur has held out this long. The knights were trained for this. They had known what might come of following Arthur. Merlin wasn't trained. Merlin hadn't signed up for this._

 _Merlin is, well, Merlin. Full of jokes and smiles and laughter that make the nightmares go away._

 _Now they've been thrown into one._

 _"He's just a servant, Morgana," he whispers as she drags him unconscious into the room. "What did he ever do to you? What_ could _he ever do to you?"_

 _"He knew I had magic," she spits. "He was the first to know."_

 _Arthur hadn't known that, but it doesn't shock him like she seems to think it will. He had known that Merlin was soft on magic. Concealing it for a friend is entirely within his character, something he had done for Will back in Ealdor._

 _"It's hardly a secret now," he points out instead._

 _"I trusted him. He knew, and I trusted him, and HE POISONED ME!" She shouts the last few words._

 _That does surprise him, but he is exhausted, starving, and barely holding onto something resembling functional at the moment. He has grieved and raged and pleaded, and he has no spare emotions to waste on that. He doesn't know when Merlin poisoned her, assuming he actually did and this isn't just some delusion, and he doesn't much care. Knowing Merlin, it was either a complete accident, or it was necessary. Perhaps he had done it when he'd realized she'd been corrupted and had feared Uther wouldn't believe him. Perhaps he had done it to save Arthur somehow. He doesn't know, but if he doesn't always trust his servant, he has at least learned to trust his friend._

 _"I wish he'd succeeded," is his only comment. He feels the blood well up on his cheek as she lashes out, but he doesn't care. It's another moment that Merlin is_ _safe._

 _But she has fastened the chains, and now she is waking him, and he can't stop her._

 _Merlin doesn't react like he expects._

 _His eyes open wide immediately, not sleepily as the others had. He grasps the situation quickly, but he doesn't seem afraid. Just tired. "This is what, the third time you've caught me?" he asks her. "Fourth? What's it going to be this time? Another snake? What is it about all the snakes, anyway? Why can't you have evil, torturing butterflies or something?" Then his eyes see Arthur trapped behind bars across from him and something hardens in him, something cold and furious. "Whatever you're planning, Morgana, I would rethink it."_

 _"Why should I when it's going so well?"_

 _"You should know by now that just because you've captured - "_

 _"Gwaine and Elyan are dead," she tells him. "Percival will join them soon. You and your precious king are the last."_

 _"You're lying." He looks at Arthur to confirm it, and Arthur plans to deny it, just to give him some hope, but Merlin sees the truth in his eyes._

 _"No." He shakes his head. "No."_

 _"Now it's your turn," she purrs. Merlin glares at her, furious, and then his eyes gleam gold._

 _Arthur stumbles back, but nothing happens except that Morgana seems positively gleeful. "Thought I would remain ignorant forever, did you,_ Emrys _? And now you've gone and revealed yourself for . . . nothing. Not while my chains trap you here."_

 _Arthur has never seen Merlin so defeated._

 _Merlin, who has magic. Magic that corrupts._

 _But that took time, didn't it? Morgana hadn't turned evil overnight. Merlin is still Merlin, he convinces himself. And it's possible to stop, Gaius is proof of that, so if - he had stopped thinking when after Gwaine died - if they ever get out of here, Gaius can help him overcome it, and everything will be fine. Right now Merlin needs to know that if they're rescued he won't be taken straight to a pyre, so he steps forward again, as far as he can and tries to give him a reassuring smile that says this will all work out, somehow._

 _If he can only ignore how he'd already failed._

 _The smile doesn't come out quite right, but Merlin seems to find comfort in it all the same, so that's good. They can sort the rest out later._

 _If there is a later._

 _Merlin seems almost relieved when Morgana produces yet another snake. Arthur can't imagine why until he imagines their positions reversed. He would give anything to be the focus of Morgana's attention instead of his friends, and Merlin, selfless Merlin who cannot possibly be corrupted yet, feels the same._

 _That is the last relief either of them feels for some time._

 _Merlin starts shouting babbled nonsense words in another language that he guesses is magic, intermingled with names, only some of which Arthur knows. He throws himself against the bars although he knows by now that it's useless._

 _"Drakon!" The words are tortured and garbled, but Arthur knows that one and remembers the dragon and the dragonlord Merlin had wept over. The past has become confused with the present in Merlin's mind._

 _"Morgana, please," he begs, not for the first time. "Whatever sins he's done to you, he's paid for, please." He is one his knees behind the bars, and he is raw and broken with vicarious pain. He remembers ten years ago, remembers who he was then, and remembers how Merlin had been there to fix the broken things that had fractured his life. He remembers the first friend he'd had that had refused to run and had hidden his own pain with a smile and laugh._

 _He owes his kingdom twice over to Merlin and his life who knows how many times, and now he is failing him._

 _"Is he your choice, brother? A sorcerer?"  
_

 _"Warlock," Merlin says, voice a scratchy whisper. It sounds automatic, words that are not a choice so much as a habit. "Wa'lock. 's different." Then he shudders, and his breath is hitching and far too much like sobs. The bite marks litter his arms and chest, and the venom still slices through his veins, burning him. The nathair, the nightmare snake, the shadow's bane, Arthur doesn't know all the names, but he has listened to Merlin scream from unbearable pain and his deepest fears, and he has never wanted anything so much as he wants to go back and scream at himself not to leave the castle, not to lead his men to this, not to watch them die, not to watch Merlin crumble into himself like this._

 _"Let me help him," he pleads. He lowers his head. "Please."_

 _For a long, terrible moment, he thinks she will refuse him. She will walk away and drag him with her and leave him to scream and Merlin to slowly fade._

 _He doesn't know whether it is kindness or cruelty that instead has her vanishing in an explosion of shadows and his cell door creaking open so that he is free to run to his friend's side._

 _There is no point in running further. There are too many other locked doors. But he can kneel here beside a friend and gather him up gently in his arms while Merlin struggles not to cry out from the pain._

 _"Easy, easy," he whispers, the words nearly sticking in his throat. "Here." He has a bit of water, not much, but more than Merlin's had, and he gives it to him slowly so as not to choke him. "It's all right. You'll be all right."_

 _"'m sorry."_

 _"I know, I know. It's all right, it's all right. We'll work it out." He couldn't care less about the magic at this point. He just wants to get Merlin and Percival out of there alive and then lock them away somewhere they can never be hurt again._

 _"Don't hate me?"_

 _"Of course not, you idiot." He half laughs, half sobs._

 _"Called the dragon. Don't think she noticed."_

 _The dragon is dead, and he doubts Merlin would be able to call it even if it wasn't but that's not the point, so he tells him well done and asks how a dragon is going to fit in the castle. If it would distract him from the pain, Arthur would talk about just about anything._

 _"Dunno. Maybe he'll rip off the roof." Merlin frowns then. "I wanna go home."_

 _"Me too. Me too."_

 _He doesn't know how long they'll have, and he's scanning for a weapon to use in case Morgana comes back when he notices the change in Merlin's breathing._

 _"Merlin? Merlin! Stay with me! Come on! Come on, you idiot, don't do this to me! You didn't leave me when we faced a dragon, don't you dare leave me now!"_

 _The gold is flaring in Merlin's eyes as the magic desperately tries to save its master and is pushed back._

 _Merlin isn't breathing. The gold fades._

 _"Don't you dare," he whispers brokenly._

 _By the time the dragon rips off the roof and plucks Percival, him, and what remains of Merlin up, he is too numb to feel much of anything._

 _Not even when Morgana is burned to a crisp._

 _"_ Sire, I'm sorry. Percival is unlikely to pull through. There's nothing more I can do."

"Not even with magic?" Arthur asks dully.

"I haven't practiced magic for thirty years now, sire, it's forbidden - "

"Then brush up on it! I'm legalizing it. Now. Where's parchment?"

"Sire - "

"NOW!" he roars, something hot and broken leaking out of him.

He will not lose Percival too.

. . . . .

Arthur realizes too late that he had not, in fact, lost everything. Not then.

Percival pulled through.

He is thirty-five now. He has a son.

Guinevere is dead. It is the curse, he thinks, of the Pendragon men, that they bring death to those they love. She did not survive the birth.

He had not gone to a mage for help, despite the raising of the laws on magic. It was a natural birth.

He lost her anyway. Gaius couldn't survive another loss. The old healer is gone too.

Nemeth is beleaguered by Odin's men. He has problems with Lot's. They propose an alliance by marriage.

Arthur's life is his son and his kingdom. His son needs someone who will remember to love him when he is lost in his grief. His kingdom needs more allies, and he has a promise to a collection of graves about uniting Albion that he intends to keep.

He agrees.

. . . . .

Arthur is forty, then forty-five. He is proud of his son. He has united Albion.

He does not love his wife, but he respects her and likes her and considers her a good friend. She is the mother to his son that he had hoped she would be.

This is not what happiness feels like. But his son makes him smile sometimes, and Mithian doesn't seem to mind that he still grieves for Guinevere, so perhaps it's close enough.

He hears Merlin calling him names sometimes. He smiles when he does. His court thinks he is finally healing.

. . . . .

Arthur is fifty when the bad days start, but they are easily hidden and rare. The court physician gives him bottles of something that tastes vile and makes him think of Morgana's nightmare medicines.

It's about as effective.

. . . . .

Arthur is fifty-five. The bad days are more common, but his son fills in the gaps. The kingdom will stay strong.

More and more details are starting to slip. He has to ask the court physician for his name again when he goes for more medicine.

Mordred, he is told. Mordred.

. . . . .

Arthur is sixty, and he knows, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he has become his father. Not the vengenace seeking Purge version of his father, but the broken man he had become after Morgana's betrayal. Somewhere it bothers him that he must be causing his son so much grief, and somewhere he worries that his son, too, will grow to suffer from this.

That somewhere is very far away most of the time.

. . . . .

Arthur is sixty-five. Than the is quietly changes to was, and they lay him out for a state funeral.

. . . . .

Arthur is newly born. The nurse comes out and tells his father that while it was close for a minute there, both mother and baby are fine.

. . . . .

Arthur is five years old. He has strange dreams he doesn't fully understand. He doesn't worry about them. Instead he plays with his toy knights while his parents worry about the bad news on the television.

. . . . .

Arthur is ten years old. He sees the screaming headlines in his father's paper at breakfast before it is hastily folded up, and he's driven to school. He knows things are getting bad in some parts of the world, but for now he is safe.

He has lots of friends which makes him sad for his dream self, who has none.

. . . . .

He is fifteen when he wakes crying from a dream where he watched as children died.

He has begun to suspect that the dreams are real, but he doesn't tell his parents. His father is high up in politics and has enough to worry about.

. . . . .

Arthur is twenty when the riots break out just outside the university's gates. The students are told to get inside.

Arthur sees dark hair and blue eyes in the crowd and runs in the opposite direction. Leon follows him. They haven't talked, haven't said a word except for uncomfortable hellos, but Leon follows, and Arthur knows why.

Arthur grabs Merlin's arm and drags him away from the press of screaming bodies.

"Are you still a prat in this life?" Merlin asks, panting.

Arthur still hasn't let go of his arm. "Are you still an idiot?"

Merlin looks at him sideways. "I'm still Emrys." The way he says it, Arthur can tell he's worried that this will matter.

"So you _are_ still an idiot," he says, and he laughs at the look on Leon's face. He laughs because everything's all right now, never mind the riot just two blocks away.

. . . . .

Arthur is twenty-five, and he has found everyone he wanted to and several that he'd really hoped he wouldn't. The world is on fire, but they're fighting the flames, and everything feels like it's bursting with glorious gold light.

. . . . .

Arthur is thirty, and Merlin is bleeding everywhere.

"Don't you dare leave me again, you idiot."

"You can't call a dying man an idiot," Merlin says petulantly.

"You're not dying," he insists.

"If you insist."

"I do."

For once, Arthur wins the argument. Merlin recovers.

It had been a hard battle. But this time, everyone came home.

. . . . .

Arthur is thirty-five, and the world is more or less saved, and somehow they all survived it. Now Guinevere is in labor, and he's wearing a hole in the floor.

"She's fading," Merlin says tensely, and his eyes turn a very bright gold.

A nurse comes out a while later with a tired smile. "It was tight there for a minute, but they're both fine."

Gwaine lets out a whoop. Lancelot, Leon, and Percival smile.

Merlin gives him a lazy grin. "Told you so, you prat. Now go see them."

. . . . .

Arthur is forty, than forty-five. He has everything he ever wanted.

He's heard Mithian has a family of her own. He's glad. They don't talk much, it would be awkward, but Merlin says she's happy. He's glad.

He is happy. That's enough.

. . . . .

He is fifty, and he starts to have bad days.

Merlin hands him a bottle that tastes like something Gaius used to make before he passed away smiling in his sleep.

The bad days stop.

. . . . .

Arthur is fifty-five. Gwaine starts teasing him about the grey hairs he's getting.

He raises an eyebrow and says it's better than going bald, and Gwaine runs off to make sure he isn't.

Merlin cackles and everyone wakes up bald the next morning except for a certain warlock, and that includes Arthur's twenty year old son.

They chase him until he gives in and changes it back.

. . . . .

Arthur is sixty, and he has grandchildren. He asks Merlin, hesitantly, if it bothers him that he never had children.

Merlin raises an eyebrow and says that after the horror stories he'd heard from his parents about raising magical children, he's rather glad he didn't have to deal with those pitfalls, and what did Arthur mean he'd never had to raise any children at all? He'd raised Gwaine and Percival and Arthur and -

Arthur steals Merlin's cane and whaps him with it. Then his grandchildren run over wanting sweets from him and magic from "Uncle Merlin", and life is still sweet and golden.

. . . . .

Arthur is sixty-five, and he stops dreaming of Camelot. He is the last to do so.

He starts dreaming of being a llama, and one look at Merlin's face has him chasing the warlock once more. His knees are getting a little creaky, though, so he gets his grandchildren to help him.

Guinevere just laughs.

Gwaine steals the cookies while she's distracted.

. . . . .

Arthur is seventy when Leon passes. Lancelot follows not long after that.

Merlin writes a will which Arthur is a witness to, no matter how much he doesn't want to be. He is surprised, though not opposed, when Merlin sets money aside and picks out a truly gigantic tombstone.

After checking to make sure the warlock didn't know something he didn't about the approaching need for one, he asks why. Merlin has never been overly flashy.

Merlin says he's combining two headstones into one since he didn't get one last time.

Arthur asks, what, exactly, made him think he didn't get one last time. It's the first time they've really talked about . . . that, for obvious reasons, but still -

"Well, it would have been illegal," Merlin says, like Arthur's the one being unreasonable.

Arthur can't quite manage to get out more than a few strangled sounds, so he drags Percival over there to explain that Merlin had gotten a knight's funeral and a very nice marker, and Guinevere gets this look on her face like she was about to yell at them for only _now_ discussing their past issues, so they all wisely retreat to the kitchen to steal more cookies.

Merlin doesn't stop grinning for the rest of the day.

. . . . .

Arthur is seventy-five, and then is becomes was in the middle of a pleasant dream about dancing with Guinevere at a ball.

Guinevere dies the same night within five minutes of him.

Merlin attends the funeral and takes Excalibur. He, Gwaine, and Percival, go on a long trip.

Within a year, their graves are added to the graveyard. It's a nice one, right beside a lake.

. . . . .

In a place where age and time don't matter, they are together.

They smile. They laugh. They are happy.

It's enough.


	92. Challenge

The room smelled like citrus, something easily explained by the bowl of fruit gleaming proudly on the table. The more traditional grapes and oranges were joined by lemons, which Merlin assumed were either a status symbol or a practical joke. Unfortunately, Arthur was sure to recognize them, so Merlin wouldn't get the pleasure of seeing him squirm over the sourness. Shame, that.

He let the trunk fall to the floor with a little more groaning than was _strictly_ necessary. Especially considering that he'd enchanted it to be light as a feather, but Arthur didn't need to know that, did he? And if Arthur was close enough behind to hear him, it'd be suspicious if he didn't complain.

When no biting comments followed the groans, he hurried over to the fruit bowl. Arthur wasn't here yet, but he would be soon. He'd have to be fast.

He held a hand over the fruit as he checked for any magical contaminants. Nothing. He still hadn't found a better way to check for nonmagical ones, so he stole a grape and popped it in his mouth. The other fruits would be harder to poison. They should be fine.

Well, there was nothing immediately fatal at least. Just to be safe, he muttered a quick distraction spell over the grapes. If he survived the next twenty-four hours, he could take it off. Until then, Arthur could just make do with an orange.

Alright, so the guest room was suitable for . . . well, a king, which was appropriate, of course, but also meant there way too many nooks and crannies he had to search.

He sent his magic out on a broader sweep and quickly checked under the pillows. Nothing. Nothing under the covers either, unless you counted silk sheets. And under the bed . . .

Aha! He knew there'd be something!

He yanked the tiny amulet off its chain. There was _always_ something. At least this one didn't seem too powerful. From the looks of it, someone had grabbed the first thing that came to hand and enchanted it. Considering it was a wooden spoon, that someone probably worked in the kitchens.

While he was down there, he untied his neckerchief and wrapped it around the board where the spoon had been hanging. Gaius had helped him cover it with protective spells before they left. Hopefully it would help keep the prat alive through the treaty talks.

"Merlin?"

Shoot.

He pushed his way out from under the bed and tried his best innocent grin.

Arthur wasn't buying it. "What were you doing under there?"

Do you have any idea how many life threatening, insanity inducing enchantments require being placed in, around, or under a bed? Better yet, do you have any idea how many people have attempted to use on you?

That was what he wanted to say.

Instead, he said, "Checking for dust bunnies?"

"And did you find any?"

Merlin hid the spoon behind his back. "Yes. We're friends now."

Arthur scrubbed a hand over his face. "Merlin, we really need the treaty we came here for."

"I know," Merlin assured him.

"So if for the next few days you could try your best not to be . . . you, it would be greatly appreciated."

Okay. That hurt. Who did Arthur want him to be, huh? Morgana? Morgause? _Every other magic user on the planet?_

Except the Druids, of course.

"I'll be George," he said brightly and pretended it didn't hurt. "I'll start right now. Is there anything else I can do for you, sire?"

Arthur looked almost like he was wincing.

"No? Than with your leave I'll be going, sire." He headed for the door with some careful juggling of the spoon to make sure it stayed out of sight but stopped when he saw a small, concealed spy hole.

Okay, he'd be George if George had secret awesome magic spying skills. Actually, for all Merlin knew, maybe he did. But he couldn't just leave Arthur to his own devices for three weeks in enemy territory. Arthur'd be dead in a day.

He snapped his fingers to cover his distraction. "If I'm being George, I suppose that means I don't have to finish your speech. That'll be nice at least. You'll probably want to start on one though, sire."

He risked a small glance over his shoulder. Arthur was slumped a bit with regret that was definitely about more than having to write his own speech.

"Or I could be myself, minus any diplomatic incident causing drinking-poison-at-banquet tendencies unless they're absolutely necessary," he offered.

"As long as we're agreed that under no circumstances is that absolutely necessary - "

"Really? Because I seem to remember one time when Nimueh - " He caught himself and winced a bit. He tried not to bring up Nimueh. Sooner or later, Arthur was going to think to wonder why she'd stopped causing trouble.

Thankfully, Arthur misinterpreted the wince as pain at bad memories. Which, to be fair, it would have been if Merlin had been a normal manservant. After Serket venom though, Merlin had a whole new definition of pain to work with. And then with the Dorocha, Freya dying, Will dying, Balinor dying, Lancelot dying . . . The point was, that was hardly his worst memory. It didn't even make the top ten.

Arthur was looking uncomfortable. The sort of uncomfortable that meant he was upset and didn't know how to deal with it. Which meant he would be angry in 3, 2, 1 . . .

"You didn't have to actually drink it!"

Merlin raised an eyebrow. "Actually, in case you've forgotten, I really did. Your father kindly offered me the option of drinking it and dying a painful death or saying I was wrong and having Bayard give me a painful death, and I figured if I had to die, I should at least die while winning the argument."

That . . . had sounded better in his head. Arthur was going to throw things. And shout at him. And probably assign him a lot of chores which he'd have to use magic to do because he still needed to investigate that spy hole, and he'd get caught and burned at the stake, and Morgana would come and kill everyone without him there to stop her, all because he couldn't keep his stupid mouth shut.

Arthur was looking even more uncomfortable. Unfortunately, that was slowly fading into a sort of dawning of unpleasant comprehension, and Merlin wondered if it had actually taken Arthur this long to figure out that Merlin'd had several reasons to fear his father, possibly to hate him, but very, very, few to actually like him.

The fundamental difference in Arthur and Uther could really be captured by their reactions to Merlin and poison. Uther had essentially attempted to execute him for trying to save Arthur's life because he was embarrassed by the method and had considered him unimportant. Arthur had turned down Merlin's offer to drink it, shot down all his arguments to the contrary, and had been willing to die in an effort to take responsibility for his actions.

There was a reason Arthur was destined to be the greatest king of Albion. Merlin smiled brilliantly, earlier hurt forgotten, and said, "I'll get your speech written, sire." He felt a sudden pang in his stomach. "And don't eat the grapes."

. . . . .

 **A/N: Merlin will be fine, by the way. I might explore this more in chapter for a prompt I've been trying to figure out for a while now, but we'll see. Tomorrow I'm going to get mentally exhausted very quickly, so I've no clue whether or not you'll get a chapter.**

 **Speaking of which! Sorry for the delay in posting this. I have no excuse, unless you count getting caught up in other people's stories an excuse. If you do, I have an excellent excuse, and it's called Avengers friendship fics.**

 **. . . Yeah, that's not an excuse, I know. On the plus side, there's one story I'm following that had a two year gap between updates, so relatively speaking, this isn't that bad.**

 **This was actually a challenge from Wolfdragon, who submitted a list of random objects for me to include. These included lemons (fruit bowl, check), a wooden spoon (amulet, check), silk (sheets, check), and a creative use for a neckerchief (powerful magical artifact, check). They also requested banter (sort of a check) and an amusing story (I'll leave that for you to decide).**


	93. Lancelot

**A/N: I don't write much Merlin and Lancelot friendship because . . . Actually, I have no idea why. I love their friendship. I love Lancelot. Unfortunately, he doesn't provide as many opportunities for jokes as Gwaine and Arthur do, and he inspires next to no angst (correction: most of the angst he inspires is romance related and therefore uninteresting, or related to his death and already explored to my satisfaction by better authors than I). Er . . . If any of you write romance related Lancelot angst, I apologize. Your's may be an exception.**

 ***Cough*. Moving on! If you've read my** **Hunger Games: Fandom Style** **, you can consider this to be a very short prequel. If you haven't, you can consider this to be what will probably be the only snippet ever written of the S5 do-over/creation of new seasons up to a S11 epic that I've plotted on the end pages of** **The Savage Damsel and the Dwarf** **but can't be bothered to write.**

 **Or: This author's note is longer than intended. Wolfdragon, I do plan on using your challenge, but it didn't fit with today's offering.**

. . . . .

Merlin liked Paris.

He liked it more when it wasn't in the middle of a revolution and he wasn't running for his life, but he liked Paris.

He also liked that he'd found a reincarnated Lancelot there and that said Lancelot was not one of the people currently trying to kill him. Instead, they were fleeing the guards - or possibly vampires, Merlin was being chased by both and wasn't sure which group was currently closer - together. It was almost like old times.

The turn from street to alley was a bit sharp at such high speeds, and he banged into the wall of the house as he went. Lancelot grabbed his elbow and pulled him on as he patted the pouch at his waist to make sure the vial was intact. He'd need that if he was going to restore Lancelot's memories of his previous lives.

"There!" someone shouted. The men were close now. Definitely men, not vampires. That was something, at least.

The wall blocking off their alleyway into a dead end was also something, but in a very, very different sense.

Merlin stared at it for a moment, breathing heavily, as their pursuers approached. Lancelot readied his pistol.

The guards had torches, naturally. It was almost midnight. There weren't any pitchforks though. That was good. He didn't need any flashbacks of witch hunts at the moment.

"What are your thoughts on magic?" Merlin asked breathlessly.

Lancelot was used to him by now and only shot him a last stand sort of grin. "I've never been superstitious."

"Glad to hear it." At least the so called "Enlightenment" was good for something. "Astrice!"

The men were blown backward. He grabbed Lancelot's arm and teleported them away to the first place he could think of, the back alley behind the inn where he was staying. "Glad to hear it," he repeated. "What about now?"


	94. Fool

The Great Hall was emptier than it used to be.

Much emptier.

Those who remained were grim and paranoid. The guard's eyes were haunted and the noble's fearful.

The king's, of course, were mad.

Once, Johan's assistant would have been creating pictures from the flames by now to charm reluctant smiles from the crowd. Or, more to the point, to charm smiles out of the pretty girl who sang to accompany them and whose name he could never remember.

He had sent his assistant away when this unpleasantness started.

He hadn't gotten far, and the pretty girl's smiles had grown false and her eyes heavy with guilt.

He wasn't quite sure where his wife was. She was the daughter of a dragonlord's cousin. She might have been killed in a riot or by vigilantes when she'd gone to visit her mother, or she might have joined her family in the army rapidly growing by the Isle of the Blessed.

And still he kept smiling, because he was the court jester and that was his job. Part of it, anyways.

Tonight, he intended to remind them of the other part.

"Goodness, it's quiet tonight," he said into the silence. Quiet and empty. No one had filled the seats on either side of the king. No one would presume to take Ygraine's, and the place where Balinor used to sit seemed to still hold him a little too strongly somehow.

Johan wondered if Balinor still believed the best of Uther or if Old Sedric had finally managed to talk some sense into him. Mathis would be no help at all; he idolized Balinor and Uther by extension.

Once, at least. Mathis was dead now. He had forgotten.

He stepped out onto the center of the floor. "Come, come! It is too grim by far in here, when we have such excellent news from our allies and friends! Let us have a tale! Your majesty? What say you?"

His majesty looked like he'd like nothing more than to tell him to go away - there was the petulant boy he remembered - but the court had perked up, so he waved a hand. "Come. Divert us."

"Once there was a fisherman," he said, flinging his arms wide. "He was well liked and respected by those of his village, and he had a beautiful wife and all a man could ask for. But he worried over what they would do when he grew old and less able to work, so he desire, more than anything, a pearl of great value to sell." He whisked one out from behind a lady's ear. Sleight of hand, nothing more, but a dangerous trick in these time, nonetheless.  
He tossed the pearl up into the air. "As his wife was walking on the shore one cold day, she spotted a fine pearl at the bottom of shallows. It was unnatural good luck, so she waded out and picked it up, wondering by what chance it had come to be free of it's oyster. She ran home, never minding her wet dress, and presented it to her husband, who was well pleased." He tossed the pearl to a startled knight.

"Well pleased until she caught chill from the cold and the wet, fell ill, and died." The king had grown rather white in the face. "The man set the pearl aside, still grateful for its value but ignorant of its real worth, and went to the rest of the village. He declared that water was wicked and ought to be done away with. He was a powerfully built man and had a fearful look in his eye, so they listened."

He reclaimed his pearl. "Naturally, they all died. A great storm arose and swept the remnants of the village out to sea where the pearl was swallowed by a shark. And that, oh, king, is my tale."

The king had risen from his seat. "Guards!"

"To avenge your wife, you've condemned your son. He'll be washed away in a tide of magical blood. By your own hand you've written this fate."

"You speak treason," the king hissed as the guards grabbed his arms.

"I speak truth. And when the truth becomes treason, kingdoms fall, old friend."

There was no trace of his old friend in that enraged face.

Johan, son of Taliesin, was led away.

He was beheaded at dawn.

. . . . .

 **A/N: I was thinking about how Annis thought Merlin was Arthur's fool. He's not, of course, despite filling some of the same functions. (Makes the king laugh, tells the king uncomfortable truths, mocks the king when no one else dares . . . ) Arthur doesn't actually seem to have a court jester, and neither did Uther.**

 **But did Uther never have one, or did something . . . unfortunate happen? I leaned towards the latter.**

 **What's up with the Taliesin thing? Some of you probably already know, some may not. Historically, he was a bard. In some legends, he was also a prophet. In this case, I meant to imply that Johan was maybe doing more than just be creepy at the end.**


	95. Other Employment Opportunities (Remix)

**Author's Note: So. Um. Sorry?**

 **In my defense, I was sick, exhausted, and busy.**

 **. . . Not in my defense, I found plenty of time to read other people's fanfiction.**

 **Sequel to Challenge. Not actually related to the original chapter by this name, but it does have a similar theme. This is to finally fulfill that prompt from my poll, and, incidentally, Wolfdragon's challenge.**

 **Oh! And this is not the Relius from Queen's Thief. I'm just borrowing the name.**

 **. . . . .**

Relius was a man who dealt in practicalities. How he _felt_ about Uther's actions was irrelevant. How it affected his liege's kingdom was everything.

His advice to the king had been to quietly take in any magic users fleeing in their direction. Quietly, so as not to attract the ire of the larger Camelot. Take them in, because they were invaluable resources who would be very, very grateful.

(There was a little girl who didn't talk and was afraid of fire but could make the most beautiful butterflies appear from thin air. That was all the magic she knew. _Invaluable?_ Jara had asked him. _Her mother is,_ he'd said. She was teasing him, of course, but weakness such as sentiment was for lesser men. And her mother had saved the king's life in the plague. Invaluable, as he'd said.)

He had wondered how Uther would manage without magic, particularly when so much of it was vengefully snapping back at him. Tatters of answers came back to him, but it came as no surprise when he learned how many citizens Camelot was losing and how small their pool of knights had grown. The kingdom was growing weak. There might be an opportunity there.

(There was a border town that would be a logical place to raid. It was plagued by a familiar whose witch had been slaughtered, and the people were starving and hopeless. If they raided, the shacks that made up their homes would burn. If they made a successful play for the land, the people - murderers, children, cowardly, struggling _people_ \- might survive the winter.)

(They could not afford a war with Camelot. They did nothing. Relius was a practical man.

He was also a wealthy one, so he didn't bother complaining too loudly when a shipment of goods from a merchant front he used went missing. He ended up with a great spy on the border out of the bargain. Relius was a very, very practical man.)

Past incidents aside, he had wondered. Especially when Prince Arthur had come of age, and suddenly everything in Camelot was going suspiciously better. None of his spies could tell him why.

And now, years later at a treaty talk with the man, he had finally figured it out.

 _That servant._

Normal servants did not spill food (creating suspiciously timely distractions) and remain employed. Normal servants did not steal food (every meal in order to check for poisons) and remain employed. Normal servants did not talk back (and give surprisingly good advice) and remain employed.

Normal servants also did not locate the charm some idiot had put under the king's bed, destroy them with appropriate methods, hunt down those responsible and . . . Well, Relius hadn't seen that suspicious kitchen maid recently, and in their business that meant he didn't really expect to see her this side of the Cailleach's veil.

Normal servants didn't spend their midnight hours carefully blocking the spyholes in the king's guest room. Normal servants didn't divert arrows from assassins who got too close.

Normal servants didn't have magic, particularly in Camelot, particularly if they directly served the king.

It was easy enough to see how the king had done it, of course. If the choice was burn or serve, you'd get most people's lip service although it was harder to tell how King Arthur had actually secured this level of devotion instead of a knife to the back. Large amounts of money was one possibility, certainly, but Merlin had been serving the king back when he was still a prince and while princes were hardly destitute, they didn't have free reign with the treasury either.

Far more likely was some sort of hostage situation. Spies were able to ferret out a mother in a remote village, a mentor in the castle, and a girl he'd courted, now dead. A warning to push the sorcerer back into line, perhaps?

The treaty talks dragged on. More digging was done, and he got word of more and more feats of incredible magic and espionage, and more and more tales of punishments and tragedies.

He quietly ordered a few men to get into place. That was about the time Shahira approached him.

She was young, too young for this business, and she had blue eyes folk called witching and were certainly unnerving, which was why she'd been kept away from the Camelot delegation. She wanted permission to approach the lower levels of it. As a serving maid, perhaps.

"Why?" he asked. Not accusing, not surprised, just a dry question and a raised eyebrow.

She didn't blush, she was too well trained for that, but a butterfly went fluttering past the window, and he sighed. The eyebrow went higher.

"I could find out more about Merlin for you," she said instantly. "We're the same age, and he's lonely. He'll talk to me."

"Fine," he said and turned back to his work.

He tapped his quill to it as soon as she left.

A crush. He could use this. If the boy fell for her, he would want to stay, and Relius had never wanted to hire anyone into the service of his king as much as he wanted to hire this one. He was powerful, he was smart, and he didn't want him in enemy hands.

(His spies told him the boy had handed in his resignation once, near the beginning, and that not long after a childhood friend of the boy's had died. The boy looked sad and nearly broken, and so what if this was the first time Shahira had made butterflies in quite some time, and he saw her talking to him more than she ever had to anyone before, even on a job?

She was probably faking to get information. If she wasn't, all the better. She could be bait.

Relius was a practical man.)

(It had occurred to him recently that he had been more practical before Uther had become so despotic, and he wondered if there was a finite amount of ruthlessness in the world and since Uther was hogging it, he'd gotten roped into evening out the field. Desperation made men do funny things.

Relius was a practical man. He duly squashed the thought.)

He was seeing an awful lot of butterflies around these days. Considering it was midwinter, he might should have a talk with her about that. Some of the foreign knights were starting to give them funny looks.

The boy seemed happier, laughing and joking and talking with big, animated gestures. He caught a glimpse of a tiny, fiery unicorn in the reflection of a mirror once, and noticed that, among other things, while there was fruit to be found due to careful importing and cautious spells, it was supposed to be for the nobility, not spies-playing-serving-girls.

He got a few of his men to play interference for the two.

(No, playing matchmaker was not the most fun he'd had in years. He much preferred advising the king. About life or death, impossible decisions. And then having nightmares.

Relius . . . was sure this was practical. If you took the long view.)

King Arthur was less happy. Servants who were wooing other servants were not spending all their time revolving around him. He didn't actually do anything to stop it, but he did tease the sorcerer mercilessly, and after one particular remark, a bystander noticed Merlin went very pale and started avoiding Shahira.

Relius decided it was time to act. He caught the boy in the hall and demanded, in his best "noble" voice, that he brought more logs for his room immediately.

Ten minutes later, the boy came into his office, tired and drawn, and Relius shut and locked the door with a single spoken word.

The boy had good reflexes. He'd jumped back immediately, posture wary, hands ready.

"I mean you no harm. I just wished for a chance to talk in private about your many, many gifts."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Merlin said with a shaking smile. "I'm a rubbish servant, ask anyone."

"I have. In fact, I've asked just about everyone."

"Ah?"

"Rubbish cleaner, excellent spy, clumsy server, wonderful speech writer, insolent speaker, remarkable sorcerer. Much better than I, if it makes you feel any better."

"You're mistaken, I - "

"Saved the prince from Mary Collins, Sir Valiant, Nimueh's Afanc, Nimueh's poison, Odin's assasin, bandits, Nimueh again, the Questing Beast - Need I go on?"

"What do you want?" Still wary. Still ready for a fight.

"I want to hire you."

"I'm not interested in - in whatever it is you're offering."

"Not the first offer you've gotten then."

"What, to take over the world? Hardly."

Relius laughed. "No, no, nothing so ambitious. Although it seems there are a few of your adventures I've missed. I work as the king's spymaster, Merlin. Magic here, while not public, is quietly allowed, especially in service to the crown. You could have an excellent wage, fascinating work, a chance to earn the respect of . . . well, everyone really. You could stay here. Settle down, rise in the ranks, whatever you want. You have the potential to even replace me someday."

Merlin looked . . . vaguely relieved, like he'd been expecting to be in a fight for his life by now, but still wary that one might yet start. "Sorry. Not interested. I'm loyal to Camelot."

"No, you're not."

He stiffened. "I beg your pardon?"

"You're loyal to her king."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

"No," Relius said quietly. "No, I don't think it is." He crossed to the other side of his desk. "What does he pay you, Merlin?"

"It's not about money - "

"I had my clerks check. It's not a bad sum, for a manservant, but it's nothing when compared to everything you do for him. So why do you stay?"

Merlin swallowed. "I believe in the world he'll build."

The eyebrow went up. "Based on what? All the times he threw you in the stocks? The threats to exile you? The complete lack of faith in your mentor?" He sat down and said quietly, "Freya?"

Merlin went very, very still. Relius's books started rattling faintly.

"Don't speak of her."

"All right," he said gently. "Merlin, I don't know what he's done, or what he has on you. Whoever it is you're trying to protect, we can get them out and bring them here. You can provide them like you've always wanted to, and he won't be able to touch them ever again. Whatever spell he's got, we can break. Whatever threats, whatever _anything_ , we can fix."

Merlin's eyes went wide, and he let out a startled laugh. "It's not - it's not like that."

"Oh? So tell me, what scared you off Shahira?"

He went paler. "She's one of yours? She's working for you?"

"Currently she's on leave, which is why I was so surprised when she asked for permission to approach you and risk being spotted by those lovely knights of yours. I take no credit for whatever relationship you may have formed."

He relaxed, just a fraction.

"Why?" Relius repeated.

Merlin frowned. "You're not easily distracted, are you?"

He resisted a smile. "No."

"Destiny . . . has a way of putting me back on track when I get distracted." He smiled bitterly.

"Destiny?"

Relius had the sense he was being measured.

"Arthur is the Once and Future King."

"And you're Emrys." No emotion showed on his face. He was too used to surprises.

"That was fast."

"You don't reach this age in our business by being slow. So. Destiny. And that's why you put up with it all?"

"He's my friend."

"Really." The word was flat.

"He doesn't know." The words came out like the excuse they were.

"And if he did, he would respect you? Listen to you? Treat you as you've always wished to be treated?" The eyebrow was high now. "If he has eyes in his head, he knows you go above and beyond. If he doesn't respect you for that, I'm not sure you want him to respect you once he finds out the rest. All he doesn't know about is the power behind the devotion, and who wants to be respected for that?"

Merlin looked away. "He will," he said quietly, insistently, to no question in particular.

"You deserve better."

"I'm a monster!" he shouted. The books tumbled off their shelves. "If you knew half the things I've done - "

"I'm a sixty-five year old spymaster, boy," he said dryly. "I guarantee you I've done worse."

"I poisoned Morgana."

"If you'd like to try again, I know an excellent supplier."

"I betrayed her!"

"Before or after she'd betrayed you?"

He ignored the question. "I made a deal with the dragon and ended up releasing it - "

"Slightly more dramatic than the usual deal gone bad, I'll grant you, but the rock and the hard place deal has been around as long as the business."

"I killed Uther!"

"Intentionally?"

He deflated. "No."

"Shame."

"It's turned Arthur against magic."

He coughed. "Because as the druids can attest, he was so tolerant before."

"He saved Mordred, and he's changed the laws!" That seemed to remind him of something. "Mordred. He was just a boy, and I was willing to leave him to die."

"You can't save everyone," he said quietly. "Trust me. I've tried."

"I - " Merlin collapsed against the door. "I don't know how many people I've killed for him. And I've been betraying the whole time by keeping this secret, and after all the betrayals he's seen . . . " He looked up bleakly. "He'll never trust anyone again. No, I don't expect him to respect me. I'll be overjoyed if he can bring himself to tolerate me."

"Or, on the other hand, great wage, no lying to your friends, providing for your mother, respect, and a budding romance."

"The first time I tried to walk away, Will died. The second time I tried, Freya died. The third time I thought about it, my father did. I think I'll stick to the path for now, thanks."

Relius stayed quiet for a long time.

"Morgana is a threat to all of us."

"Oh, definitely." Merlin jumped onto the new topic eagerly.

"I want to keep a closer eye on her. It would require a very tight focus. Someone who could report to me about that, and only that. No need to be distracted by other things." He paused. "I can make that a magically binding contract if you like."

He blinked. "What?"

"I don't always get what I want. So I have backup plans. They're lovely things, you should look into them. I drafted up these orders for Shahira, if she wants them." He passed over the papers to Merlin. "Go have a talk with her. See if you can't work things out."

Merlin hesitated.

"You didn't tell her everything either," he pointed out.

Merlin grinned. "Fair enough."

. . . . .

Relius was a practical man. He knew young love didn't always last although he did have a good feeling about this one.

Meanwhile, he went to have a talk with someone. He knocked on the door.

"Merlin, have you finally learned how to knock? How - Ah. I beg your pardon. I was expecting - "

"Merlin, yes, I know. It was about him I wanted to speak to you actually."

"What's he done now?" he asked grimly.

Relius was surprised to know general concern buried in there too.

"I was wondering if you would pass on to him that if he's ever looking for a job . . . "

Relius went on, straight facedly outlining a lucrative deal, listing Merlin's more recent accomplishments as glowing qualifications. He took a certain pleasure at the quiet, fierce panic and dread that were springing up by the king's mask.

So he would miss him if he left. Interesting.

Merlin was good. The best he'd seen in years.

But not even he could find _all_ the spyholes. Relius had a few decades on him, after all.

Relius listened in as King Arthur stumbled his way through the repeated message. This time, close enough to get the real thing instead of the second hand report, he heard what was beneath the words.

 _Don't leave me. Please don't walk away like all the other's have._

And he could hear Merlin's surprised, unconsidered, "But I turned him down days ago, why would he - "

"Better question, why didn't you mention it?"

"Why would I?"

And he could hear, with no words said, a bit of respect, carefully hidden, quietly grow.

He couldn't fix everything. Couldn't save everyone. Couldn't make all of this end well.

But he believed in doing what he could.

He was, after all, a practical man.


	96. Albion

The five greater kingdoms of Albion, Nemeth, Camelot, Caerleon, Escetia, and Lot's kingdom, were not alone. Numerous smaller kingdoms, ruled by Olaf, Elena, Bayard, and others, dotted the landscape.

When Cenred died, Lot claimed a large chunk of his kingdom and turned covetous eyes to Caerleon and Nemeth. Smaller kingdoms expanded as they could. Caerleon grabbed most of waht remained although Camelot, under Arthur, claimed just enough to straighten its border along the White Mountains.

Yes, this meant Ealdor was now part of Camelot. Yes, it meant Arthur could now send patrols there. But the same went for a number of other villages. There was no significance to the act whatsoever.

Caerleon died. Annis took his place. Lot tested her.

Lot retreated to nurse his bloodied nose. In more ways than one.

The smaller kingdoms fell to infighting. When King Olaf died, Vivian appealed to Camelot for help. Arthur would have been happy to send men in exchange for a reaffirmation of the treaty, but Vivian had netiher the talent nor the inclination to rule. She surrendered her lands to Arthur without being asked and demoted herself to "Lady". It was probably for the best.

Elena, similarly threatened, also had to fight against Morgana. Through a series of treaties, a similar deal was reached. The invading kingdom was crushed and conquered quickly.

The remaining kingdom turned on Bayard and killed him. In accordance with the treaty, Arthur stepped in. (That treaty had cost them far too much to be ignored, thank you very much. And there was a reason Arthur had made sure no drinks were served during the recent treaty signings.)

The smaller kingdoms had been swallowed up. Normally, history would view this as a bad thing.

But then, normally the new peoples were oppressed. Normally, the new empire wasn't Albion.

Lot felt threatened. He'd learned his lesson with Annis, but Nemeth . . .

Rodor was dead. He had been old and sick. Mithian was a strong queen, but her lords refused to accept her. It was a sign of her skill that she'd held them together this long.

. . . . . .

The candle burned low at her desk. The papers from her spies werer still stacked too deeply to even think of rest tonight.

She rubbed her eyes tiredly. She'd stretched the marriage game for as long as she could. The lords were getting impatient. She'd either have to marry one of them or drop the pretense.

Mithian wasn't holding out for love. Her kingdom came first, now and always. She'd marry any of them in a heartbeat, no matter how old or disgusting, if she thought there was a one of them who wouldn't just make the situation worse.

If only Arthur . . . Well, he was married now. It wasn't as if she'd loved him, either, but he had been her age and good looking. She'd liked him, and he was an excellent ruler. Her lords would have accepted him. As far as political marriages went, it didn't get much better than that.

The curtains stirred in the breeze.

Her window hadn't been open.

Silently, she drew a dagger from her skirt. Thsi wouldn't be the first attempt on her life, and she was determined it wouldn't be the last. She stood and walked towards the fire as if deep in thought.

Then she whirled, blade raised. It clashed against another with enough force that it went flying out of her hand. She screamed for her guards, only to find her voice trapped in her throat.

A slender man in a black cloak stood before her, hand outstretched. THe hand holding the knife - the left one - had lowered.

"Peace, your highness. I came only to bear a message."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Oh. Right." He sounded almost sheepish. And familiar . . .

He dropped the knife and released the spell.

"Who are you?"

"Seeing as magic is still outlawed where I come from, I think I'd rather not answer that."

Magic was outlawed in many places, but only Camelot did much about it.

Camelot. Her eyes widened. " _Merlin_?"

"Of course not! I am . . . Dragoon! The Great!"

" _Mer_ lin."

"Only Arthur is allowed to say my name like that. Speaking of Arthur, he thought you should know that you can't trust Felix and Ambrosius."

"I know that, but how does Arthur?"

"They might have been trying to convince him to overthrow you."

That was new. "Wonderful."

Merlin let the hood fall back and drifted closer to the fire. His eyes were sympathetic. "Arthur won't, of course, but they might well turn to Lot next, and you know what he's like."

She did. "Since when does Arthur send you out to go sneaking into castles?"

He grinned. "Since he found out I'm really, really good at it. He thought it best if he didn't go through official channels."

"And have you thought it best to tell him why you're so good at what you do?"

His smile faltered. "He-He's not ready yet. He'll hate me."

"Are you so sure?"

"Sure enought that I'd be happy to put some protective wards on your room if you promise not to mention it."

There was real fear in his eyes. Mithian couldn't help it.

She melted.

"All right. But don't worry about the wards, I'm not trying to blackmail you."

The grin was back, brighter than ever. "I put them up before we started talking. Your security is awful. NO offense," he tacked on hastily. "Everyone's is."

"Except Arthur's."

"That's my job."

"Is it one of the qualifications for manservant? Because ladies' maids are useless."

He laughed.

She walked over to her desk. "Merlin, Lot will attack any day now. My country is on the brink of a civil war. My poeple cannot survive both at once."

"No," he said soberly. "But it doesn't have to come to that."

"Oh?"

"Give me a week. Your lords' loyalty to you will be the envy of Albion."

"How?"

He grinned again, but this time it was almost feral. "Trust me."

"Why?" she asked quietly.

He knew what she meant. "You hired a band of mercenaries. One of them is named Mordred. I need him dead."

"Why?" she repeated.

"Because if he's not, he'll kill Arthur."

Ah. So that was why the happy boy's face had gone so hard. "Done, then."

"Done."

Both fulfilled their end of the bargain.

. . . . .

Annis died. Lot invaded her lands. She had left no heir.

The people appealed to Arthur for help. He fought for them, fighting Lot to a stalemate. Arthur was heavily wounded in battle.

Merlin . . . may have overreacted.

On the plus side, Arthur was healed, Lot was dead, and so was a good portion of the enemy army.

On the downside, Merlin's secret was out.

. . . . .

Arthur was still staring at him. Merlin was starting to get uncomfortable.

"Sorry?" he tried.

Arthur started laughing. It was a slightly hysterical sound.

"Arthur? Arthur, are you alright?"

"Alright? Alright? You're a sorcererer!"

"Warlock, but basically . . . Yeah."

"And you never thought to mention this because . . . "

"You'd have had me executed."

ARthur stared at him for a moment. Then he was laughing once more. There was a definite note of hysteria there. "You just destroyed half an army," he managed to gasp out. "How - exactly - could I have had you executed?"

Merlin looked at him indignantly. "What, I was just supposed to blast the knights out of the way and make a run for it? Who would have looked after you?"

"Looked after me."

"Someone has to check your food for poison, and kill assassins, and find traitors, and break love spells and curses, and - and - "

"Tell me when I"m being a prat," Arthur supplied.

"Exactly! You need me. I'm Emrys. It's my job to protect you."

Arthur had read the prophecies after Morgana had dropped the name. "And the rest of it?" The banter, the pranks, the stupid excuses, the sheer faith behind the pep talks? "Was that your job as Emrys too?"

"No. That was my job as your friend."

Arthur considered that for a moment. "I can live with that."

. . . . .

Lot's kingdom became a part of Albion. The ban on magic was repealed. One would think the sorcerers would no longer have anything to complain about.

One did. She enchanted Arthur and then disappeared. Arthur slept for days.

. . . . .

Arthur jerked awake with haunted eyes. "Merlin!"

"Sire! Are you alright?"

Arthur grabbed his wrist. "You are never going anywhere alone ever again. And if by some miracle you manage to, you aren't allowed to do anything when you get back until Gaius gives you a full checkover."

"Wha-Why?"

"Oh, I don't know, Merlin," he said, sarcasm dripping. "It can't have anything to do with the serkets. Or the poisonings. Or the fomorrah. Or Nimueh. Or - "

Merlin's face had gone white. "Exactly what did you see?"

Arthur stared at him grimly. "Apparently that you have the self preservation instincts of a lemming."

. . . . .

Arthur made sure word got around. The knights - and Gwen - were behind Arthur's measures wholeheartedly. They also formed a "Merlin-Looks-Sad Committee". When the stopped watching his mouth and started watching his eyes, they were appalled how much he'd been hiding behind that smile.

It was time to do something about that.

. . . . .

The Saxons attacked Nemeth. IT came under Albion's protection, and Arthur drove them off.

. . . . .

"The druids say Emrys translates to immortal." Arthur's voice was quiet.

"What does that mean?" Because it couldn't mean the obvious. It couldn't.

Merlin grinned. "It means, unlike the rest of you, _I_ won't have to get a nasty, painful sword wound before I can go to Avalon to wait for the time for us to return."

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. "But you'll be there?"

"Of course I will. Knowing you, you'll find some way to get poisoned in the middle of paradise."

"I've only been posioned one time!"

"Because I've taken it for you all the others! Besides, what about the time in Gedref, huh?"

"That doesn't count."

"Sure it doesn't."

"Idiot."

"Prat."


	97. Memori

Arthur wasn't entirely sure how old he was at this point. He'd known in his first life and probably could have calculated it out after the first few, but by now he had no idea.

He'd drawn out a few rough estimates though and the results were. Well. Frankly unbelievable.

It wasn't surprising that he'd started to forget things was what he was saying. It _was_ kind of surprising that he was still . . . functional, but he'd noticed his memory had odd quirks it didn't use to. He suspected that something (Destiny, he remembered, every time he died) was keeping back memories he didn't need so as not to overwhelm him. (Later, he suspected that she also kept back others for the sake of her own amusement. Arthur was less amused, especially considering what had happened to his father the first time around.)

He forgot things, or he forgot the right context for them, but sometimes he could pass it off as normal.

He forgot his wedding anniversary. That was what Jennifer thought at least because it fit with her idea of who he'd been in Camelot before being reborn into England.

The truth was that he'd remembered his anniversary. The _wrong_ anniversary, the one he shared with Gwenhwyfar. He'd thought he still had four months to go, but he'd gotten it wrong. He blushed and apologized and bought her the most expensive flowers in the shop and let the others tease him. He told himself this was normal, this was fine, lots of guys did this, and _he was fine._

He wasn't the only one who forgot things. Those times when Merlin had been left to wait alone, he tended to forget a few details as the years passed. He asked Arthur to remind him sometimes - little things like what exactly he'd said at the Yule festival, sometimes, and big things like what his mentor's name had been others. It was the action that he forgot mainly, confusing details of this battle or that, allowing painful memories to be replaced with something gentler or something he'd seen or heard about elsewhere.

Merlin would turn to him with desperate eyes and ask question after question, trying to sort what was real from what was not, when Arthur wasn't always sure himself. He corrected Merlin's version of Camlann without thinking, and then, watching him panic and struggling to help, beat himself up, because how could he know? Maybe he was the one who was confused.

He forgot, sometimes, when he woke up which previous life this incarnation was tied to. If his friends were there, he could sort it out, but if it was just him alone, at least at the moment, he could never be sure. They didn't rotate in order.

He'd regained his memories once at the same time as Morgana, and he'd waited for her to make the first move because he couldn't quite remember whether this should be heartwarming, awkward, or life threatening. Morgana's reaction hadn't clarified matters which was unfortunate because he could hardly just go ask her or Merlin, "Beg pardon, I can't quite remember. Did Morgana kill my wife, or was Morgana a trusted adviser? Her hair was red both times, and I can't quite recall."

Actually, he couldn't have asked that even if they wouldn't have looked at him like he was insane because he didn't talk like that. The point still stood though, and forgetting whether someone was friend or foe wasn't normal.

(Well . . . There was that one time. But that wasn't so much forgetting as rapidly changing alliances, so that was different.)

He started leaving himself lists. This is your wife's name. This is how you died. This is your anniversary. This is the name of your son. This is where you work. This joke will make sense. This joke will make a knight punch you.

They're very helpful lists, right up until Gawain finds one and hands it to Genevieve.

For the first time, Arthur wonders if maybe he was wrong to think it was only Merlin's soul that was fundamentally the same. He sees something in their eyes he hadn't expected to, and despite the seriousness of having to talk his way out of concerned suggestions of therapy, it makes him feels better somehow for the thought.

He loves Guinevere every time. Always Guinevere, no matter how different. Had he always glimpsed the same bright soul?

He shakes the thought off and returned to defending himself. He ends up going to see some sort of memory specialist. Arthur pretends it helps and starts hiding his lists.

He can't stop writing them. In his next life, the world's too far gone to have anything resembling specialist doctors and everyone's gone a bit mad, so he wears it more openly, jotting down notes onto his hand, letting the words scrawl up his arm when he runs out of room. Merlin, perhaps thinking the notes are a form of note tags, adds "If found, please return to Emrys," while he sleeps. He laughs until he realizes the words won't wash off and have a magical signature that will instruct the reader how to do exactly that, and the consequences if they do not.

"You've changed," his friends start telling him, and they sound questioning, because to them he has been dead for a thousand years or more, so how could he change?

How can he tell them he has spent ten thousand years fighting since he last saw them?

But Arthur is still Arthur, and he can't remember most of it, so he lets himself fall into whatever feels natural and it works most of the time.

He forgets that Merlin has lived through - not as much, perhaps, oddly, but enough. Enough to see it in his eyes and demand answers when he isn't too badly hurt by events.

Sometimes Arthur steals tricks from his old friend and puts him off.

Sometimes he tells him.

Merlin believes him. It's odd. Countless variations and yet Merlin always believes.

His reaction varies. He always tries to help, of course, he's Merlin, but whether it's with jokes or tea or advice changes. And one time, there's one time, where Merlin looks at him and asks what he remembers of their previous life, and the conclusion is, as Merlin sums up, "Less than I do, but enough," and he seems so oddly cheerful that Arthur has a terrible, dreadful suspicion that he's happy to be remembered at all, and that makes Arthur a little bit sick because Merlin is as devoted as ever. Arthur will see Merlin again and again until it all blurs together, but Merlin in this reality remembers everything about Arthur more sharply than he does himself.

He brands that memory into his head and tries to remember everything after that, but it falls through his arms like a child trying to hold too many cookies at once.

He forgets that Destiny is jealous. He forgets that she will steal all memory of Merlin in that reality just to spite him, just to give it back and watch him burn with guilt for letting it go. He forgets that every moment of happiness they eke out they must pay for.

He forgets that Destiny will kill them. He forgets that Destiny will torture Merlin again and again, whenever he turns away from the path she has laid for him.

Merlin will forget it too. Merlin, who is the same, but always, always forgets, just like the others. But while Arthur might forget the details or the cause, he will remember other things.

He remembers Gwaine dying because of his stupid mistake. He remembers Guinevere dying, alone and betrayed, because he had put his people before her. He remembers Merlin giving him a cheerful salute before sacrificing himself to save Arthur's son.

He remembers getting Gwen's name wrong and the hurt in her eyes. He remembers making a joke that hurts Percival more than he'd ever let on. He remembers punching Morgana when she'd done nothing wrong.

He remembers being too late to fix any of it.

So next time, even though they don't remember, he gets his anniversary engraved on his ring and makes a list of all of Gwen's favorite things and gives her a picnic in the middle of a war. He picks her up and whirls her around and makes careful note of everything she tells him and does whatever it takes to get that wonderstruck look of love in her eyes.

 _I'm sorry,_ he whispers right before he wakes her from a nightmare. He hunts down rabbits so she can have the fresh meat she's been craving for breakfast, and he smiles when she asks why.

He takes an arrow for Gwaine and ignores everyone who shouts at him afterwards. He makes sure the knight knows he is valued and tosses him an apple and doesn't answer when Gwaine asks how he knows that he likes them - it wasn't something he would have had a chance to notice, the first time.

Arthur remembers something he read once about universal constants and laughs.

He defends Percival from society's jeers in a world where he's been judged by "The Test" and found wanting and memorizes what Percival will laugh at and what makes him flinch and makes sure never to do the latter.

He rises from the lake and Merlin runs to hug him and won't let go for a long, long time. Even when he does, Merlin walks too close to him so that their shoulders are constantly bumping, and it takes Arthur to realize that Merlin's panicking when they're briefly separated by a crowd. Only when they touch is Merlin sure this is real, so he throws an arm around Merlin's shoulders and pretends not to notice his half ashamed relief. He never mentions it when Merlin peeks into his room in the middle of the night.

One of them, all of them eventually, makes a mistake.

 _Sorry. Sorry, I'm so sorry, it won't happen again. I'm sorry._

He forgives all offenses against himself instantly, every time.

He cannot remember his father's original face. He can, however, remember if not all, than enough of what they have done for him and what they have suffered.

He remembers what he owes them and he makes lists of the rest.

 _Remember you must die,_ a poster says.

Arthur stares at it for a moment then adds a modified version to his list. He has no trouble remembering his impending death, but it does take some effort to remember that someday it will stick.

Remember. Remember your lists, remember their lives, remember, remember, remember.

So naturally, next time, Destiny takes it all and laughs.


	98. Elementary

**A/N: Continuation of 5 Ways Merlin Found Arthur: Kindergarten, thus fulfilling the last prompt from the poll.**

There was a reason Arthur was at such an elite school. Uther was a powerful man, and attempts to kidnap his son were to be expected.

It wasn't the school's security systems that stopped the men, though. It was Mr. Merlin Emrys, that nice, quiet man that made such good coffee and whose students adored him.

By the end of the incident, his students adored him more than ever, and the men were more than happy to go with the police. _More_ than happy.

Uther was not impressed with the school, but he was very impressed with Mr. Emrys. He withdrew his son from the school and offered the man a position as Arthur's private tutor.

Merlin accepted.

The arrangement worked to all parties satisfaction. Better than Uther had hoped, really. Mr. Emrys had no problem taking on extra hours to look after the boy if the nanny had time off and Uther was away. He cheerfully took on more and more responsibility as the years passed and Arthur always seemed very happy in the brief times between Uther returning from a trip and heading out to his next one. Mr. Emrys was well paid, of course.

Subsequent kidnapping attempts were always quietly, neatly thwarted. Arthur reached fifth grade without much incident, and Uther began wondering if he'd need to hire a new tutor for the middle grades or if Mr. Emrys might be willing to earn another degree. It would save him the trouble of hiring a bodyguard.

And then it was Sunday, a very particular Sunday in June, and Uther smiled over the neat white card with the precise lettering and the crisp envelope carefully labeled "Father".

He stopped outside the breakfast room to adjust his tie.

"You can't - No. You can't give me this." Ah, Mr. Emrys. Good to see he was here early. Uther was firmly of the opinion that education should not stop for mere seasons or days of the week, and Mr. Emrys agreed readily.

"Why not?" Arthur demanded. Some homework that was too sloppily done, perhaps?

"Because I'm not your father!"

Uther froze. The card seemed suddenly rather limp in his hand.

Arthur muttered something unintelligible.

"Well, yes, I know, but - Look, it's not that I don't _like_ it. It's fantastic, it's just, I'm not your father, Arthur."

No, he wasn't. And he wasn't going to be Arthur's teacher for much longer either.

"Don't look at me like that. You know it's true."

"What are you then?"

His tutor!

"Your friend."

"Oh." The word is surprised and bright, and Uther suddenly remembers a letter from Mr. Emrys requesting Arthur be allowed to socialize more. Uther had turned it down for security reasons. "That's alright then."

Uther walked in. "I'm glad to hear it," he said, voice frigid. He plucked the card out from the _former_ tutor's hand. It was bright and colorful and hopeful, and his own seems hopelessly sterile in comparison. "Mr. Emrys, if you could meet me in my office tonight - "

"No!" Arthur jumped out of his chair. "No, you can't fire him, he's the best teacher I've ever had - "

"He's the only teacher you've ever had, Arthur, and you're too old for this kind of nonsense."

"And he's saved my life at least ten times, and he can do magic - "

"Magic."

" _Please._ "

"Eight o'clock," he said coldly.

"Sir." The word was stiff and accusatory.

Uther walked out, locked in a frigid, guilty rage.

The tutor was angry, of course, but Uther didn't care.

"You know, if you actually paid attention to your son, this wouldn't have happened."

How dare he? He made sure Arthur had the best of everything.

Arthur refused to let it go. Uther was heartily sick of the whole mess. He hired a new tutor within a week. He expected Arthur to complain.

He did, furiously, until the tutor arrived. Afterwards, he seemed to warm up to the man, but he remained furious at his father.

Uther was sure it would blow over soon enough. In the meantime, Mr. Dragoon was doing an excellent job.


	99. Avengers: Sun's Getting Real Low

Steve had thought Howard didn't sleep much, but Howard had nothing on his assistant.

Merlin whirled through the workshop like the grains in the hourglass he kept on a chain were lives he could see slipping away. He muttered while he worked, eyes flashing in reflected light as he checked Howard's calculations or put the finishing touches on Stark's latest piece of brilliance.

"Strange," Bucky mused after one mission.

"What?"

"'Coulda sworn I was out of bullets. But when that other sniper showed up - "

"Huh."

Merlin traced runes on the metal when he thought no one was looking. Steve kept his mouth shut.

. . . . .

The medical tent was a place Steve was far too familiar with. He hadn't expected to see Merlin there.

He was talking to the men, and his eyes were reflecting the light again.

"I'm sorry I can't do more," he whispered to one. "She's blocked most of my power. This is all I can do."

Steve cleared his throat. Merlin glanced up. "Captain." The shadows under his eyes were darker than he had ever seen them, and his eyes had a slightly manic look to them.

"Do you ever sleep?" he demanded.

"Don't need to," Merlin said brightly. He pointed at himself and muttered something. The shadows lightened somewhat. "See?"

Steve grabbed his arm. "Go. Sleep. Now."

"You'll be singing a different tune in seventy years," he grumbled. Then he froze. "Sorry, Captain. Ignore that."

Steve waved it off. "I hope I'll get a chance to."

Merlin's eyes were surprisingly dark. "Depends on your views on changing destiny."

"Not sure I believe in it."

"Wish I didn't."

. . . . .

A test tube shattered on the floor. Merlin glanced up. "Mr. Stark?"

Someone harried looking had run into the room and was sharing a frantic message with the scientist. His face had gone white.

"The plane went down," he said numbly.

Merlin didn't have to ask who had been in it. Destiny always got what she wanted.

The war ended. He got his power back. Howard went searching.

Merlin didn't bother to try. He knew exactly how long it would take for the boys from Brooklyn to be found.

He was still awake. Frozen and trapped, the captain was still awake. He could sense that much.

So he did the only thing he could. He sent the Captain a sleep spell, heavy with sweet dreams.

For himself, he just muttered another spell and made more coffee.

He hadn't slept since Arthur died. He didn't intend to start now.

. . . . .

 **A/N: Yes, I know long term insomnia has all sorts of nasty side effects. But Merlin is Merlin, with immortality and magic, so I figured he might have a few more options.**

 **Title taken from Avengers: Age of Ultron.**

 **The last one's coming up . . .** .


	100. Shards of Courage

**A/N: Arthur and Alternate Realities 'verse. First section set early enough that he's still fairly cheerful about the whole thing but late enough that he's started to get genre savvy.**

 **Twenty-fifth life. Camelot.**

It would be nice, Arthur thought, to be able to walk into a cave that was just a cave. No monsters, no magic crystals, no interesting inhabitants, no long lost treasures. Just a cave.

Failing that, it would have been nice to have an exit out of this one. One that wasn't blocked by a large pile of recently fallen rocks, that was.

If Merlin were here, it wouldn't be a problem. In most realities, he would be able to just wave a hand and get rid of the rocks or teleport them out. Even in the realities where he fulfilled a more seer like function, he could have at least provided Arthur with a little moral support by pointing out that they could hardly die trapped in a cave if Arthur was supposed to die at Camlann.

Or at least, Arthur didn't think this was Camlann. He'd been unable to locate the place in this reality, and he couldn't read the words engraved on the wall since they were in some sort of foreign language. For all he knew this _was_ Camlann.

He really wished Merlin was here.

But Merlin wasn't here. Not as an old man, not as a peer, not as a frighteningly powerful child. Arthur hadn't caught a single glimpse of him this time around, and he was getting worried. He hadn't seen any magic either, and he'd realized that Merlin without magic didn't quite make sense somehow. If this was a world without magic, it was probably a world without Merlin.

A world without Merlin bothered him more than he wanted to admit. Merlin was the closest thing he had to a constant in this insane stream of existence. He didn't see this life ending well.

He could, unfortunately, see this life ending, quite possibly sooner rather than later.

When in doubt, move. Sitting there whining wouldn't fix anything.

He pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the stab of pain that came when he accidentally put too much weight on his left ankle.

Naturally, if he was trapped alone in creepy cave, he had to be injured. Because what fun would it be otherwise?

He was complaining again. Where was his sense of adventure?

Probably buried three lives ago in that maze that had killed half his knights.

Keep going. He had to keep going. At least there was light. There were some holes in the rocks, just not big ones.

He had initially thought it was a treasure hoard of some sort. Further exploration determined that while there was certainly plenty of treasure, this was also a tomb.

The back of his brain was busy drawing comparisons to the Cornelius Sigan incidents - some variation had happened on four worlds so far - and he really didn't need that right now, thank you very much.

There were plenty of other tombs this could be. An ancient king's, a successful robber's, a priestess's, Merlin's -

Yeah, that last thought wasn't any better. In fact, he'd prefer Sigan. It had been a while since he'd punched the man.

The coffin was decorated but not in a way that made it obvious who was inside. Maybe the runes said something, but he couldn't read them.

On top of it, in a place of honor, was a lamp. At least, he presumed that was what it was. It was foreign looking and ornate and not at all practical. A remnant of wealthier times.

Wealthier times. He froze. Oh, no. There was no way this was King Constans' tomb. King Constans, who had built the largest empire Albion had ever known with blood and something dark and forbidden history wouldn't speak of. King Constans, who had made his capital fat with wealth and brought a certain tyrannical peace to the land.

King Constans, who had died and left a fractured, feuding land behind when he invoked the wrath of . . . someone. History wasn't very clear on that. In fact, most records seemed to hint that it was more the wrath of some _thing_.

There wasn't magic here, but there were monsters.

He'd been buried with an artifact that had apparently granted him both his power and his doom, and the location had been deliberately forgotten.

Who was he kidding? Of course this was King Constans' tomb. Of course it was. In fact - yep, over there in that corner. That was definitely a crown.

And that lamp wasn't a lamp, was it? Or not just a lamp.

He could, he supposed, go sit by the entrance and wait for rescue. Then he could leave and quietly have the entrance sealed.

 _Something forbidden._

Something like magic?

It was stupid, but, he reasoned, if he didn't pick it up intentionally, the ceiling would collapse and force him to dive onto it or something. Why not spare himself the falling rocks and just pick it up already?

He limped over to it before he could dissect that logic too much.

Besides, he had a good feeling about this. He couldn't explain it, but it didn't feel like Sigan or any of the other times he'd pushed forward despite the warning signs. This felt . . . right. Safe.

Like gold and blue and a universal constant.

He picked up the lamp and opened the top.

Gold smoke billowed forth and slowly formed itself into a shape. A shape with very familiar blue eyes.

"Merlin."

The figure froze mid bow. " _That_ is a name I haven't heard in a very long time. Although to be fair," he said as he straightened, "I haven't heard any name for a rather long time. What year is it?"

"Er, 1091."

He stiffened. "You're joking."

"No."

"I've been in there for _three hundred years?_ "

Arthur winced. "Is this King Constans' tomb?"

Merlin glanced around. "Don't know. I was already in the lamp. Let me check these runes . . . Yes. It appears it is."

"Then technically you were in there for three hundred and four years." He hesitated. "You weren't awake for all of that, were you?"

He nodded glumly before straightening eagerly. "But I'm out now, and you look young and healthy, so this should work out well!"

"Er, pardon?"

"What? Oh, right. Got to explain the rules. You don't know the rules."

"Is this going to involve three wishes?" Because he'd heard stories about genies in other worlds, and this was definitely reminding him of one of them.

"Oh, no. That's genies. I'm . . . special. The good news is, you still get wishes. The better news is, you get infinite wishes! I'll use my magic for you until you die, and then you can pass the lamp on to a nice successor - preferably sane, but I'm not picky - and it starts all over again."

A horrible suspicion crept into Arthur's mind. "When you say until I die, do you mean that you'll be following me around for the rest of my life, or do you mean that the wishes will eventually cost me my life?"

"The first one," he reassured him. "Unless you dismiss me. Then I go back into the lamp. But there won't be any call for that, trust me. I'm very useful. I also talk a lot right after I get called from the lamp, because I haven't had anyone to talk to in years, but if I get annoying, you can just tell me to stop."

"I'm not putting you back in the lamp," Arthur reassured him. "What happens if it gets stolen?"

"Assuming I'm not in it?" He shrugged. "You buy another one to stick me in when the time comes."

"Right." Merlin was here. Merlin was here, and that was good, because he could see his friend in every bubbling, eager word and stupidly wide smile, but it was also doing strange things to his chest to see that desperate edge to everything he did and to know why it was there. It was doing strange things to his stomach too, to realize just what he'd been handed here.

Merlin had said he wasn't a genie, and there were differences, so fine, but there were similarities too, and that was making him nervous. Infinite wishes equaled Merlin using magic just like always, but it also meant he had far more control than ever before. He got the final call over what was done. He was in control of the magic. He was in control of Merlin because last time he checked, genies didn't have a choice about what orders they obeyed.

That . . . was not a pleasant thought. At all. Especially considering what some of his previous commanders might have had him do.

 _King Constans built an empire on blood and something horrible history wouldn't name._

 _Preferably sane, but I'm not picky._

"Do I have to phrase it any particular way?"

"Oh, no," he said cheerfully. "Any order will do."

And that was even worse because he was a king and orders fell like rain from his lips and conversation was full of them, wasn't it? _Shut up, stop that, stop being such an idiot, go away._ Things he rarely meant anything by and that he'd always trusted Merlin to know when to disobey.

 _Pass the pitcher, don't tell me that, wipe that stupid grin off your face._ So many orders, most of them minor and no trouble anyways, but somehow they all seemed different when the person receiving them didn't have a choice.

So he phrased the next bit carefully. "I'm Arthur, by the way. King of Camelot. I got separated from my men and a rock slide trapped me in this cave. I don't suppose you could get us out of here?" A question, not an order. He didn't know if Merlin appreciated the gesture or not, but Merlin was grinning as he snapped his fingers and they appeared in the midst of panicking knights.

Arthur began the task of calming them down. Merlin stared up at the sky and drank it in like a man descending on water after being lost in the desert for days.

Or, in this case, three hundred and four years.

* * *

"Brownies." Arthur tossed the report down onto his desk. "Nuckelavees. Gwyllgis. Faeries dogs. A Bean Nighe. Elves. Unicorns. Dragons. Wyverns, boggarts - Am I forgetting anything?"

"Will-o'-the-wisps?"

"Yes, thank you." He frowned. "Speaking of which, why is your pocket glowing?"

Merlin sheepishly pulled one out of his pocket. "Her light's flickering, see?"

Arthur resisted the urge to bang his head on his desk. "And I care about this, why?"

Merlin's hands curled protectively around it. His eyes gained a slightly pleading look. "The others kicked her out."

"You want to keep it, don't you." It was too flat to be a question.

"Please? She was lonely."

"It's not a person, Merlin, it doesn't have feelings!"

Oh, look. He had a new entry for his "Top Ten Stupid Things I Really Wish I Hadn't Said" list. The expression on Merlin's face might even earn it in the coveted number one spot.

"That was a comment on will-o'-the-wisps specifically, not beings with magic in general. And yes, you can keep it, though it's not like you really need my permission."

Merlin perked up considerably. "Her," he corrected. "I'm naming her Morgana because she keeps switching between light and dark."

Arthur choked. "That's nice," he managed in a slightly strangled voice. "And that adds Cunning Folk to our list, thank you for the reminder. My point is, Merlin, two years ago most people hadn't even heard of these things, and now they're everywhere! Where are they all coming from?"

"Ah. Er. Well, um, you see - "

Two years ago. Two years ago. "Merlin!"

He flinched. "Yes?"

He rubbed at his growing headache. "I released you two years ago."

"Yeesss . . . "

"This is your fault, isn't it."

"Maybe?"

"There are faerie dogs killing people, Merlin!"

"And unicorns saving lives! You don't get to pick and choose. It's not something I can help, anyway. I told you I wasn't a genie. I'm Magic, Arthur. Capital 'M'. Well, a shard of it. When I come out to play, everything else does too."

Arthur closed his eyes. "But they're hurting people."

"Some of them," he admitted quietly. "I can't - I can't stop them, Arthur. Not and defend the kingdom, too. But they'll save more than they hurt as long as - " He cut himself off.

"As long as what?"

He was quiet for a long time. "During Constans time," he said slowly, "a lot of people died. From the magic, I mean. And there weren't any unicorns. It got worse as time went on. A lot worse." He swallowed. "It has a lot to do with - with how I'm used. As long as you don't make me do anything bad, it'll be okay."

A horrible feeling twisted in his chest. "Then why are some hurting people _now_?"

"Well, I'm hurting people, aren't I? Not very nice people, normally, but to defend you or the kingdom. You'll notice most of the people getting hurt are getting served a faerie sort of justice. Not all. I make mistakes. But - most. For now." He rocked uncomfortably. Morgana blinked and floated closer to him in what Arthur could swear was concern.

"What exactly happened with Constans?"

"Is that an order?" Merlin's voice came out in a raspy croak.

Arthur hesitated. He needed to know more.

But not yet.

"No."

Merlin nodded. "It was bad," he offered. "Really bad."

"I know." He hesitated. "Any particular reason you didn't mention any of this before?"

Merlin winced. "Some people throw me back in the lamp when they figure it out."

Arthur really, really hated that lamp. "I won't," he promised.

Merlin smiled. "I know."

* * *

There had been an army bearing down on Camelot.

Had been.

Without Merlin, they would have lost for sure. With Merlin, they could have had a one man army, but Arthur instead sent out knights and archers, infantry and dragonriders and Cunning Folk. Merlin fought too, but he didn't fight alone. This way, hopefully, they could avoid most of the magical backlash.

He could still see redcaps down among the corpses though.

Merlin sat beside him, head between his knees, looking green. Arthur sat beside him and put a hand on his shoulder.

Merlin glanced up sharply. "You're hurt."

"I'm fine." It was just a scratch.

Merlin raised a hand. The cut healed over.

"You were down in the healers' tents for hours. Give it a rest."

"Every little bit helps," he mumbled.

Arthur nodded and looked out over the field. "Merlin?"

"Mmm?"

"What happened to Constans?"

Merlin was quiet for a long moment. Morgana zipped out of his pocket and bobbed in front of him. He started at her blinking light instead of at Arthur. "He made me kill for him. He made me hurt people too. Not kill them, always. Just hurt them."

"And the magic lashed back."

"Yes. It went dark." He laughed a little, if you could call it a laugh. "Even went a bit mad after a while."

 _You or it?_ Or was there even a difference?

"What happened to Constans?"

Merlin closed his eyes. "I have to obey orders. I have to. It's not that it hurts me if I don't, I literally have no choice."

"I know," he said hastily. "I'm not blaming you for any of this."

"I have to obey orders," he repeated. "But you have to give them first."

He felt cold. "Merlin?"

"It took me a while to figure it out. He ordered me to defend him if someone attacked him. But I'm not someone, am I? I'm Magic. I'm the personification of a force. I'm a tool, nothing else."

"That's not true," Arthur growled.

Merlin shrugged like he didn't believe him. "He believed it. He said it. That's what matters."

Arthur was still trying to sort through it all. "So - "

"You have to give the orders first," he repeated. "He never ordered me not to kill him."

"That's why no one claimed the lamp afterwards. They were afraid you would turn on them."

Merlin shuddered. "Yes."

"And you went back into the lamp when he died. You knew that would happen. And you did it anyway."

"It wasn't planned. I could have . . . hidden it, if it were. He just - I couldn't - I didn't know what else to do."

Arthur could only imagine what had pushed Merlin over the edge, and he didn't really want to. Merlin was still shaking. "C'mon. Let's get somewhere warmer. It's freezing out here." He offered him a hand up.

Merlin took it warily. "Not the first order I was expecting after that little story."

Arthur snapped his fingers. "Right. Merlin."

"Yes?"

"If you ever decide to kill me, make it look like an accident. That's an order."

Merlin's mouth fell open.

"Problem?"

"You," he said, "are the strangest master I've ever had."

"I'm flattered. Any idea where Guinevere's gotten off to?"

* * *

"You're slumming it here, and you know it. She can't get away with doing this to you."

"I think you'll find she has. Besides, it's not so bad."

"Not so bad? Have you been paying any attention at all to what's going on in the other r- "

"Don't say the word!"

"Have you been paying attention to what's going on here? The only reason I don't kill most of your masters right off the bat is because then you'd go right back into the lamp."

"And because you're not allowed."

"For you, I'd make an exception."

"Ha, ha. Sure."

"I mean it. You're worth it."

" _Don't._ It's not worth the cost. Especially not with her in charge."

"I can handle anything she can throw at me."

"That's what I said."

"Look, I can't take him early, but I can take him painfully if you like."

"Who?"

"Arthur, of course."

"No! Don't. He's a friend."

"Really."

"He let me keep Morgana."

"He let you keep one of Destiny's favorite pawns as a pet?"

"No, I named the wisp Morgana."

She stared at the bright, hopeful smile on his face. "Never lose that."

"Lose what?"

"That look. Like the whole world is wonderful." She sighed. "I have to go."

"I love you."

" . . . That's an extraordinarily odd statement. But I love you too, brother."

Arthur was just close enough to hear the tail end of that statement right before she vanished.

"You've got a sister?"

"Two. And a brother."

"What are their names?"

"Time, Destiny, and Death. That was Death. She's my favorite."

"Taken out of context, that would sound extremely creepy. Why's she your favorite?"

"She's the only one that hasn't tried to kill me."

Silence.

"Do you think everyone's families are as messed up as ours or is it just us?"

"Gawain did threaten to kill one of his brothers."

"Yes, but that was Agravaine. Everyone wants to kill him."

* * *

"Right, so what's the problem? Assassins? Diplomats need some persuading? Spies need misdirecting?"

"It's a ball, Merlin. A party. You're supposed to have fun at it."

"I know the function of a party, I just don't know _my_ function at the party. Am I the entertainment? The bodyguard?"

"A guest."

"Undercover, got it. What are my orders?"

"It. Is. A. Party. I'm going to dance with my queen. _You_ are going to do whatever you like, so long as it's fun."

"Fun."

"Yes."

"That's not very functional."

"You're a person, Merlin, not a shovel. You don't always have to have utility."

Merlin stared at him like this was an entirely novel concept.

Arthur thought uncharitable thoughts about previous owners of the lamp.

He has to stop himself from saying, "Go. Dance. Eat. Do," because that would be an order and thus counterproductive. Instead he rolled his eyes to hide the fury behind them and dragged Merlin over to the food table. If there was one way to get to Merlin, it was food. He didn't need it, but he used to steal it constantly until Arthur noticed and started making sure he didn't have to.

He grinned when he saw Merlin's eyes light up. Food first. Maybe the rest would come later.

* * *

It was generally known that Arthur had a bodyguard with him at nearly all times that had a way with magic. That was all that was generally known.

It was also generally known that Arthur was an excellent warrior. It was not generally known that he'd had several lifetimes to get that way.

Arthur got three of the assassins by moving quickly. One of the remaining seven managed to knock him to the ground. A boot crashed into his ribs.

That was when Merlin showed up.

"This," he said calmly, "is why I hate peace talks." He snapped his fingers.

One by one, the assassins began to transform into smoke.

The last one backed away. "Why?" he croaked.

"Because most people don't put me on bodyguard duty by saying, 'If you're not too busy, protect me from everyone but yourself."

The last assassin disappeared.

Arthur pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the pain in his ribs.

"I still can't believe you phrased it that way, by the way."

"You could have been dealing with a bigger threat to the kingdom. I didn't want to interrupt."

"And the other bit?"

"If it ever gets to the point where you'd rather risk another three hundred years in the lamp rather than obey my orders, I think I'll probably need to be taken down."

Merlin gave him a look he couldn't quite interpret, but the pain in his ribs vanished, so he figured he probably wasn't mad.

* * *

Camlann. It was always Camlann.

He couldn't breathe properly. Something sharp and painful kept stabbing a jagged rhythm in his ribs.

At least the ground was soft. Nice slick mud that felt warm against his neck. Much better than last time. Last time there had been rocks stabbing into him and freezing cold rain. This was much better.

Morgana lay in a sad, squished ball beside him, light permanently gone. The other Morgana was probably lying dead somewhere around here too for that matter. Poor Morgana.

"Arthur? Arthur, stay with me!"

Merlin. Merlin was here. That was nice.

"Arthur, you have to order me to heal you. You told me not to use magic today until you told me to, so you have to tell me. Come on, Arthur, please!"

"Merlin?"

"Please, don't take him. Please, just a little more time, I can save him, please, sister, please - "

Please. Please. Please. Ple-

* * *

Merlin stared dully at the ground. Arthur was dead. The pitiful ball that had once been Morgana lay crumpled beside him.

His sister knelt beside him. It was strange to see her black dress smeared with mud.

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," he said dully.

"I'm still sorry."

"If he hadn't told me not to use magic - "

"He was trying to protect you. You saw what happened to the last person to use magic in these hills."

Yes. He had. So had Death. "Why am I still here? Why not the lamp?"

Death looked away.

"Am I dead?" he asked with mild interest.

"Nooo . . . "

"But he's dead."

" . . . Mostly."

"Death," he warned. He struggled to bat down the wild hope surging in his chest.

"I made a deal with Destiny," she said in a rush. "He's dead. Mostly. But he's coming back."

Merlin sat back, staring blankly. "Back. You never let anyone come back."

"Don't remind me," she grumbled. "But you'll be more or less free until he does."

He had a few long term orders. Protect the kingdom. Protect the queen. Other than that, he really was free, wasn't he?

The price was too high. He gripped Arthur's cold wrist tightly. "When?"

"That's for Destiny to decide."

He nodded. "Alright then. I'll make sure the kingdom's waiting for him." He stood and offered Death a gentlemanly hand up. "In the meantime, he'll need a place to rest. I'll take him to Avalon." He wrapped his arms around her. "Thank you."

Death stiffened, startled. "Only you," she mumbled, but she hugged him back. "Only you."

* * *

 **Arthur's lost track. England.**

Arthur woke up on an island. Apparently he'd be rising directly from the grave this time around. Time to go see what England looked like.

He got up and moved forward out of habit more than interest. Instinct still commanded him to act despite the weariness that had settled deep in his bones.

How old was he now? He could count the years in thousands. Thousands and thousands. Too long for any mortal prince to live.

But the habits of a lifetime that long were nearly impossible to break, so he moved forward.

Which life had this been? He didn't recognize the island, but the years could have changed it. His armor was good but not notable, and the sword could be any of a dozen variations of Excalibur.

There was a boat waiting for him on the shore. That was good. He didn't much fancy a swim in this armor, and he doubted he could get out of it alone.

It wasn't magical. He had to row to get it to move. He didn't mind. It was easier not to think that way, just to glide across the unnaturally silent water with a quiet burn in his muscles as they became accustomed to working again.

The boat bumped into the opposing shore. Dead leaves softened by rain carpeted the start of a low rise to a hill.

It was quiet. Dead.

Oh, this was going to be a bad one. He could feel it already.

"Arthur?"

He spun. His hand didn't go to his sword. He knew that voice far too well.

Merlin had materialized on the bank behind him. His eyes were wide. "You're back."

"Mostly." He didn't recognize Merlin's clothes, but that meant nothing. He would have been surprised if he had. "How long has it been?"

"Three thousand and four years and three hundred and four days."

Arthur blinked at him. That was jogging a memory. A lamp? Was this the genie reality? "Destiny has a weird sense of humor."

"Yeah, she does." Merlin seemed kind of dazed.

She? Genie reality was looking likely.

Arthur waved a hand vaguely. No matter how many times he did this, it was still awkward. "So what have I missed?"

"Oh!" Merlin straightened like he a soldier about to deliver a report. "I successfully protected the queen until she died of natural causes at the age of ninety-seven."

Ninety-seven. In a cutthroat world of warlords of plagues, ninety-seven. That was impressive.

"And I've protected Camelot. Basically. I mean, it's been attacked more than a few times, and sometimes people died, but I've kept the magic under control, and it's still standing, so - "

"It what?"

"It's still standing?"

He stared at him. "That's a first. Well done. Why have I been called back then?"

"Camelot's still standing."

"Yes?"

" . . . It's the only place that still is."

"Please tell me Camelot's still standing in _spite_ of that and not _because_ of that."

"What? Oh! No, I wouldn't - There were aliens. We were the only ones that managed to hold them off, but they've been coming back on raids, and we really need your mind for strategy."

"Aliens."

"Right, sorry, you wouldn't know what those are - "

"As in beings from outer space?"

"Yes. Wait. How did you know that?" He frowned. "And what did you mean when you said earlier that this was a first?"

Why not? It would let him use information and skills he'd otherwise have to hide, and it would explain why he was still a little fuzzy on exactly what had gone on in their past life.

"It's a long story. Is there a better place to tell it?"

* * *

It was good to be back in Camelot again, no matter how much it had changed. It brought back memories. A cave, a party, a hallway full of assassins . . . Common themes, but now he had the details sketched in.

"That explains a lot, actually," Merlin said slowly.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Really? Like what?"

"Like why you're such a big shard."

"Beg pardon?"

"I never explained that in any of the other realities?"

"Not that I recall, no."

"I might be able to help with the memory situation, but to answer the question: I told you that I was Magic, and that my siblings were Death, Time, and Destiny. We're all . . . personifications of forces, I guess you could say. I didn't tell you that there are others too. Time calls them the lesser ones, but they're not. Just the more human ones. Strength, Courage, Honor, Liberty, Sorrow, Madness, Love, Wisdom. I can't remember the rest. There are a lot of you."

A lot of _you_.

A dwarf on a bridge to the Perilous Lands had told him he'd need Strength, Courage, and Magic.

Just how literally had he meant that?

"Destiny, Death, and Time are pretty limited in what they're allowed to do. Destiny has to set up her pawns and webs and then just let it play out, Death can only affect the details of the deaths, and Time has more rules than any of us. Magic, though, well . . . "

"You can do just about anything."

"When I'm whole, if I'm willing to deal with the consequences. And your lot can interfere as much as you like. Not all of you do it for the better, but all of you can do it. Way back when, Destiny and Time got jealous, got a few others on their side and - Haven't you ever wondered why there's a multiverse?"

"They did that?"

He winced. "We all did that."

Arthur gaped at him.

"When Death goes to war against Time and Magic's dueling Destiny, what do you _think_ is going to happen?" he said defensively. "A little sand gets kicked up?"

Arthur sat down. "So. Multiverse. Got it." He thought it through. "I assume Destiny won?"

"Unfortunately. We're hard to kill, so she did the next best thing. She broke us like mirrors and tossed the shards to the multiverse. All of us, even her allies. For the more primal of us - Death, Time, and I - it diminished our power, but our larger shards retained most of our memories and could even peek in on our other selves. You couldn't."

"I'm a shard."

"Of Courage, yes."

It was insane, absolutely insane, but so was the rest of his life, so he rolled with it. "We were on the same side, right?" he checked.

Merlin grinned. "If by same side you mean you stabbed Destiny in the eye when she told you that you could either stand aside and let her break me or join me, then yes, we were on the same side."

"So . . . "

"You were broken up into larger shards than most which is why you've been bouncing around. There weren't enough of you to go around, and ever reality needs Courage."

"But there are other Arthurs out there."

"Somewhere, yes." Merlin got up and started pacing. "Even as shards, we're a threat to her. That's why she's manipulating things as she is. Keeping us off balance, keeping us from full power - "

"She was the one that put you in the lamp."

He grimaced. "She arranged it at least."

Arthur nodded.

Because this was his life. Rising from the dead to fight aliens and to find out he wasn't human just wasn't worth getting worked up over.

Alright, maybe it was, but if he started letting himself feel it now, he was pretty sure he would never stop, and that wouldn't do anyone any good except Destiny.

Deep breaths. Steady, steady. "What now?"

Right on cue, an alarm blared. Merlin turned to the door automatically. "Aliens."

"Naturally."

Merlin grinned at him. "Come on. I'll show you the lava cannons."

"Lava cannons?!"

He was already out the door.

There will be a long, slow journey. They will gather shards of themselves and piece their friends back together. They will ally with Death and convince Time to change sides. There will be wars to fix what Destiny broke and save what Destiny would have condemned.

They will corner her in her last hiding place.

Free will beats destiny any day.

Then something very long and broken but strangely good will be over.

Something better will begin.

Will. But right now, Merlin is giving a rant on aliens, and Arthur is doing his very best not to laugh.

* * *

 **Read me Read me Read me Read me:**

 **A/N: I accomplished what I set out to do. One hundred chapters, and I'm proud of the last one.**

 **I hope all of you like the whole shards thing. I borrowed a bit from Pratchett's anthropomorphic personifications, a bit from Brandon Sanderson's cosmere, and made the rest up.**

 **Several people have requested more stories. This collection is complete, BUT I AM PLANNING TO START ANOTHER ONE. It will not update daily, but there are several threads I'm not quite finished with. Prompts and challenges welcomed.**

 **Thank you, thank you, thank you, for all of the wonderful reviews. I treasure them all.**

 **and wikipedia both provided mythological information for today's offering.**

 **I hope to meet you again on future adventures!**


End file.
